


Manifest

by caseyptah



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tom Paris has a beard, crew held in captivity, epic as fuck, non-graphic references to physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 58,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyptah/pseuds/caseyptah
Summary: Voyager is hijacked by a hostile alien society, her crew scattered across a barren wasteland of a planet. Isolated from everything he knows, Tom Paris must rely on his talents for flying and survival just to make it through each day. His job brings him to a harrowing, hellish factory compound where he finds a familiar face: B'Elanna Torres. She's the only person with the ingenuity and resourcefulness to secure their escape, but before B'Elanna can save Voyager, Tom must save B'Elanna. An AU that takes place in early season three.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With deepest thanks to CaptAcorn, whose fantastic critique work helped me to clarify this story. (She deserves far more than a single sentence of gratitude for her efforts, but she has been encouraging me to delete my extraneous sentences and trust my reader. So here I am, taking your advice and paring down what could have been an epic twenty stanza rap in your honor to a mere fifteen-word sentence. You’re welcome, I guess.)

B’Elanna Torres and Tom Paris were together on the floor of a class two shuttle. Tom was kneeling beside B’Elanna, who was on her belly, half of her body embedded into an access junction.

“What’s the resonance now?” B’Elanna’s muffled voice came from behind the paneling.

“4.275 on the starboard,” Tom responded.

“That’s too high for the vector assurances system.” B’Elanna pulled herself out of the junction and up into a sitting position right next to Tom. She put her fingers to her lips, staring into the access hatch, silently working her way through the problem. Her thigh was grazing his, just barely. She didn’t seem to notice the physical contact, but he sure did. He shivered.

A few weeks ago he had finally noticed the symptoms in himself: standing up a little straighter when she walked into the room, playing up his charm and wit, smiling a little more frequently. How he melted when her eyes narrowed at him with that provocative look of amusement.

It was just a harmless crush. These things happened, especially in the close quarters of a starship. And there had been that night in Sandrine’s about a month ago when they had ended up alone at a table after Harry and Chapman had gotten up to play pool. They had taken turns narrating as a somewhat-sloppy Ensign Harry Kim stood a little too close and talked a little too loudly at Ensign Renlay Sharr. B’Elanna’s laughter made Tom smile every time, and when the two ensigns in question had left Sandrine’s together later that night Tom and B’Elanna had looked at each other in shocked surprise and then burst out laughing.

The two of them had left together as well, but parted ways in the turbolift. The doors had closed behind B’Elanna’s form as she made her way to her quarters on deck nine, her “have a good night, Tom” still ringing in his ears. That was the moment he had realized how badly he wanted to be with her.

Not long after that he had attempted to initiate courtship maneuvers. It had gone well, he had thought, his offhand invitation to go sailing on Lake Como perfectly timed, his delivery smooth. But the emotion playing out on her face had been all too obvious: amusement. She thought this was a joke, and she had responded in kind. “I’d rather take my chances with Freddy Bristow.” He would have recovered from her rejection gracefully too except then the energy signatures had shown up again, and moments later they had both been shot by alien intruders.

Normally Tom Paris wouldn’t hesitate to continue laying on the charm after being rebuffed like that—he had, after all, developed a whole toolbox full of courtship tactics over the years—but something was different this time, more difficult. For one thing there was a friendship at stake here, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. If he failed, if he pushed too hard for too long to nudge them over into romantic territory, what was the consequence? Would she be less generous with those amused smiles? Would she start avoiding him in the mess hall?

And it seemed likely his efforts would fail. B’Elanna was way out of his league. Hell, nobody on _Voyager_ was in her league, but Tom wasn’t even close. He didn’t stand a chance. Tom Paris: creator of silly holodeck programs, the ladies’ man, the one with a joke for every occasion. She deserved someone bold and tenacious and special, just like her. Tom Paris was not particularly bold, he was not tenacious, and he was definitely not good enough for B’Elanna Torres, not on any level.

So Tom was not currently pursuing B’Elanna. Except…

For the past two years Tom had been playing with the idea of reprogramming the dynamic matrix in the shuttlecraft in order to increase thruster efficiency. He was reminded of his idea every time he had to take one of the class two shuttles out, but he never quite got to the point of forming a coherent plan to make it work.

Until last week when he realized this was exactly the kind of project B’Elanna would love. Tom had finally sat down, spending almost a full week of evenings alone in his quarters with a pile of PADDs. His final model yielded a threefold increase in thruster efficiency, and a net power conservation advantage of almost twelve percent. Maybe his father was right: he just needed the right motivation and he could accomplish anything.

And that’s how Tom and B’Elanna had ended up in the back of a class two shuttlecraft at 2100 hours that evening, B’Elanna eager to test his theory, Tom eager to spend some time alone with B’Elanna.

“I think we need to lower the threshold for the uptake to activate,” B’Elanna murmured, her eyes still on the access panel in front of them. She exhaled quickly, the way she did when she came to a conclusion about something.

“I thought about that when I was doing the initial calculations,” Tom said, shaking his head. “If we do that it’ll slow down the vector realization, and that would affect thruster performance.”

“ _Barely_ affect thruster performance,” she corrected him. “I don’t think it will make a tangible difference.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she raised hers back at him. “Don’t—” she started.

“A good pilot will be able to feel it,” Tom stated. “And in the wrong situation it could be the difference between getting around that gravimetric distortion or not.”

“I disagree,” B’Elanna’s eyes sparkled with certainty. Tom’s heart melted. “And when we get that holodeck time for this project tomorrow I’ll prove it.”

“We’ve been over—”

“I know, I know,” she threw her hands up in mock despair. “The holodeck simulations do not sufficiently duplicate the ‘feel’ of the shuttlecraft.” Tom was smiling now, probably smirking really, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Maybe if  _you_ ask Chakotay he’ll approve a real shuttlecraft test flight,” Tom suggested. B’Elanna gave him a skeptical look.

“And override the captain’s orders? Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, he’s much more likely to agree if the request comes from you and not me,” Tom pointed out.

“And he’ll never agree to that request.” B’Elanna said. “I’ll just have to wait to prove you wrong once we’re out of Kordaien space and the captain authorizes shuttlecraft flights again. How much longer until we’re out anyway?” B’Elanna reinserted herself into the access panel.

“Ten and a half days.” Tom was trying to not stare at the curve of B’Elanna’s hip right next to his knee.

“Do you think Neelix was right about the Kordaien?” B’Elanna asked, her voice muffled again.

“I’m generally inclined to believe the natives.”

“But they didn’t have any border to speak of, no warning buoys, no fleet waiting to chase us away. We haven’t seen a single ship or outpost the entire time we’ve been in their space.”

“Neelix said ships came in and never came out. He never said they had trouble crossing the border.”

“I’m just saying, for all the fussing he did about us needing to change course to avoid Kordaien space, so far Kordaien space has been pretty unremarkable.” She pulled herself out of the access panel again, reaching for the tricorder in Tom’s hand, frowning at the readout. Her fingers grazed his as she took it and his breath caught in his throat. “Anyway, I think it’s a good idea to run in dark mode for two weeks while we cross their space. But certain pilots who like to run hot on the engines all the time might disagree.” She flashed him a grin, then stood and walked back toward the aft deflector array.

Tom got up to follow her, unable to come up with a clever retort. His mind was stuck on that smile, the playful twist in the corners of her mouth.

No, Tom Paris was definitely not pursuing B’Elanna Torres. Not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

His breathing was so loud. Why was it so loud?

And his face was so cold.

Awareness was fading in around him now, filling in his other senses. His face was pressed up against a cold metal floor. The cargo bay floor.

No, it wasn’t just his breathing. There were others here, too, coughing and gasping. Tom could see Ensign Sharr’s shoulders heaving next to him, and someone’s elbow, or something, was digging into his back.

Tom blinked, wondered why his head hurt so badly. What the hell just happened? What was the last thing he remembered? Breakfast in the mess hall, mediocre coffee. Running into B’Elanna in the turbolift, on her way to a rare bridge shift. Her slight smile when the turbolift doors admitted him. Tuvok’s nod of acknowledgment as they entered the bridge together and went to their respective stations. He had relieved Ensign Jenkins at the conn, and looked over the navigational data. Nine and a half days left in Kordaien space. Right on schedule.  

The Kordaien.

Tom took a deep breath. His head was screaming with pain, but his limbs seemed intact and functional. He forced his eyes to stay open against the bright light, and pushed himself up to his elbows. It looked like about half the _Voyager_ crew was here in the cargo bay. Tom could see Samantha Wildman’s pile of bright blonde hair a few meters away, Chell’s blue dome next to her.

And the Kordaien were here, probably twenty of them. No, at least fifty of them, surrounding the sea of red, gold, and blue on the floor of the cargo bay. The Kordaien were large, probably taller than Tom by at least half a meter, their bodies stocky, and clad in some sort of thick plastic material. Their faces were a sickly grey and jagged with vertical rows of extra flesh extending from the top of their bald, pointed heads down to their chins. Tom had thought them immensely ugly the first time he had seen them on the viewscreen, moments before the attack had begun.

The attack. There had been an attack.

Tom groaned, and began to bring himself up to a stand.

One of the Kordaien saw Tom stirring and moved toward. “Down! You stay down and you will not be harmed! Down!” he barked. Tom moved himself into a sitting position, meekly bowing his head and indicating surrender with his hands raised, hoping the human body language translated. The Kordaien guard made a coughing noise, and moved back to his spot against the wall.

Several other crew members were stirring, bringing themselves up from prone, while the Kordaien guards screamed at them to stay still. Tom nodded carefully at the others around him as they came to. Ensign Jenkins was rubbing Ensign Reynolds’s back as he gagged and coughed himself awake.

“Lieutenant?” Jenkins was looking at Tom. “What do we do?”

“Stay calm, stay down,” he said. “Help the others.” His voice was firm and confident, and Jenkins nodded, turning back to Reynolds. Good. His leadership persona was still convincing enough. He had had more practice with that particular performance these last few years in the Delta Quadrant due to his role as chief helmsman. He had always slipped it off and on easily, just like his other personas: suave male pilot, life the of the party, aloof boyfriend. One of his previous girlfriends had commented on his natural ability with people, and he had not bothered to correct her appraisal. He knew what people wanted him to be, and he knew how to play to it.

“Stay calm,” Tom whispered to Nozawa, who was sitting on the other side of Jenkins, in a daze. Henard was to Tom’s right, looking tense and angry, and Tom repeated the advice in his direction. Tom’s eyes searched the crowd for the captain, the commander, or Tuvok. No luck, but it was hard to pick out individuals in this mass of writhing bodies, especially from his spot on the floor.

On the other side of the cargo bay, Crewman Doyle couldn’t see or hear Tom’s admonition to stay calm. Doyle brought himself to a stand, fists at the ready, screaming obscenities at the Kordaien guards. There was a bright flash as a Kordaien weapon spewed forth some sort of energy surge. Doyle dropped back to the ground like a rock. Someone over on that side of the cargo bay started screaming. Tom continued meeting worried eyes, kept sending the message: stay calm. No sudden movements. Just wait. Jenkins looked like she might vomit, and Nozawa was clenching and unclenching his fists.

Most of the _Voyager_ crew in the cargo bay were stirring now, and Tom was still scrutinizing the crowd. He still couldn’t see the captain or commander, and where was Harry for that matter? Where was the rest of the senior staff?

Tom heard a familiar grumbling behind him. He turned and saw B’Elanna, her body twisting as she woke. So that was her elbow that had been jammed into his back. He shifted his weight, and leaned over to help her sit up, but she rejected his hand with a look of mild disdain, pushing herself up under her own power. Too far! She was trying to stand and the closest Kordaien guard was already moving toward her, lifting his weapon.

“Down! Stay down!” Tom hissed at her, catching B’Elanna’s upper arm in his hand and pulling her down with some force. For a second, he felt her reflexively fighting against his strength, but after a moment she allowed herself to be pulled back down into a sitting position. She angrily whipped her arm away from his grasp. Her hackles were up. Fair enough.

“Stay down,” he whispered. “They just shot Doyle for trying to stand.”

“What the hell is happening?” she demanded, pressing one hand against her forehead ridges and exhaling with pain.

The last thing Tom remembered was the beginning of a Kordaien attack, a hodgepodge flotilla of mismatched spaceships armed and ready for battle. The Kordaien leader had hailed them, insisting that they surrender immediately. Captain Janeway had stood directly behind Tom, carefully introducing herself, stating that they had no violent intentions, and then requesting safe passage through their space. The Kordaien had cut the comm in the middle of her speech and launched an attack. Tom was already initiating the first evasive maneuver as the order was given. Behind him, Harry and B’Elanna had begun their shouted recitation of a litany of systems failures.

“What do you remember?” Tom whispered at B’Elanna. She shook her head, now absently rubbing her upper arm where he had grabbed her.

“Not much,” she whispered back, her eyes keeping close watch on the guards who were alternately leering and shouting at their prisoners. “The Kordaien were attacking. Shields had just gone down. And then I woke up here.”

“Same,” he whispered back. “But how did we end up in the cargo bay?” She thought for a minute.

“I was reading a massive energy surge building up one of their ships, right before our shields went down,” she said. “Maybe some sort of wide-dispersal energy weapon to knock out the entire crew at once?”

“That would explain the headache,” he said. Her eyes were still swinging around the room, assessing each captor in turn, scanning escape routes. Tom sensed that she was ready to pounce at any moment. One of the nearby guards had also noticed, and had his eye on B’Elanna. As she shifted in her place, the guard also shifted his weapon, pointing it directly at her.

Tom reached out, gently this time, and put his hand on her arm. She was startled by his touch. He gave a subtle nod toward the guard.

“Not now,” he whispered at her. “Just wait for now.” He thought she would rip her arm away, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared into his eyes for a long time, finally communicating her cooperation with a closed mouth and a slow exhale. She settled her body, and he somewhat reluctantly let go of her arm. The floor jolted slightly underneath them, and their eyes met, questioning.

“Is that—”

“ _Voyager_ just docked,” Tom guessed. “Or I should say: someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing just docked her.”

The Kordaien guards seemed to be standing a little straighter, anticipating something now. Their fleshy faces were impossible to read. The faces of the _Voyager_ crew, on the other hand, all read the same: fear.

B’Elanna was still planning, plotting, scanning, fingers pressed tightly against her lips. Tom glanced around the room again, his throat dry, still meeting worried eyes, faces full of fear. He gave what he hoped was an encouraging nod to each person, attempting to make his own face unreadable. He continued to scan the room, hoping once again to catch sight of the command team or Tuvok.

“Tom, if we could get to that work station—” B’Elanna stopped short as the cargo bay doors opened, revealing another large contingent of armed Kordaien in the corridor.

“Up! Up! All prisoners! Stand up!” one of the Kordaien began shouting, and the other guards took up the chant. The mass of Starfleet personnel began staggering to a stand. A few in the crowd were still unsteady, and had to lean on others for support. Tom helped Jenkins pull Reynolds to a stand.

The guards’ yelling changed. “Workers! Move out! Move out! You will be shot if you disobey or attempt escape! Move out!”

Tom and B’Elanna were at the far end of the cargo bay, opposite the cargo bay exit, and they stood, waiting while the the crowd began to filter through the bottleneck of the doors. The guards were goading the Starfleet prisoners with their weapons, yelling. One of them stepped in behind Tom and B’Elanna, violently jabbing his weapon into Tom’s back, pushing them along. Tom instinctively put his hands up in surrender again. He saw B’Elanna raise her chin in defiance, hands formed into fists, but she kept in step with Tom, heading toward the cargo bay doors.

Crewman Doyle was still on the floor. He was dead, his face plastered into a grimace, eyes wide open. B’Elanna growled when she saw him.

The corridor was crowded and loud. Now that Tom knew what those weapons could do he was even more nervous about having one shoved into his back the whole time. He felt his adrenaline rising as the crew shuffled down the long hallway, forward on deck eight of _Voyager_.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Tom whispered at B’Elanna.

“The forward docking apparatus,” she whispered back.

She was right. They rounded the last corner and saw a funnel of guards pushing their captives through the open docking port. He heard B’Elanna exhale angrily next to him. His adrenaline surged again.

They stepped off _Voyager_ ’s grey carpet and into some sort of alien vessel. All the surfaces—the floor, ceilings, and walls—were impossibly smooth, translucent, and almost seemed to glow in various shades of green and blue and purple. This alien vessel was strangely quiet; the shouting of the guards and the fearful noises of the crew were muffled.

A single Kordaien guard was standing at the end of the short, smooth hallway, sorting their prisoners. Some of the Starfleet crew were being sent to the left corridor, the others to the right. Tom must have unconsciously slowed his pace because the weapon behind him was pushed more urgently into his ribs. He grimaced.

As they approached the sorting station, Tom glanced around him, calculating quickly. If they were going to escape this they had a better chance together. Tom reached out his left arm, snaked it around B’Elanna’s shoulders, and pulled her closer. Just for a second. Just so they wouldn’t be sent to different sides. She pulled away from his touch, but he managed to catch her eye, giving her a look of urgency, and she relented.

The Kordaien motioned for them both to go to the right, and they did. B’Elanna shrugged Tom’s arms off of her. A quick glance at her face revealed rage, determination, and fear. Tom felt the same, although he suspected his ratio of fear and rage were slightly different from hers.

As they entered the room at the end of this corridor, Tom finally felt the pressure of the weapon on his back ease up. Fifty or so members of the _Voyager_ crew were already lined up against one long green wall, bathed in emerald light. They seemed to have lost Jenkins and Reynolds along the way, but Nozawa and Henard were still with them. No command team, and no Harry still. Where the hell were they?

Tom and B’Elanna stood next to each other, lined up against the wall. Tom finally noticed a new alien species in the room. There were about twenty of them, smaller than the Kordaien, also grey, but more of a violet grey than the Kordaien. Rather than hair, they had what appeared to be a very thick fur running from the top of their heads down their necks and beneath their bright blue jumpsuits. No, not quite fur. More like a hedgehog’s spines. Their faces were remarkably human, if somewhat overly round, and every one of them appeared to have bright yellow eyes. They were moving around quickly, discussing whatever was on their alien version of PADDs. At random intervals they would pull a captive from the waiting area against the green wall and lead them through a set of doors at the other end of the room.

“Did you see what they did to Doyle?” Tom heard a voice coming from the other side of B’Elanna. It was Ensign Blain from engineering.

“I saw,” B’Elanna murmured to Blain.

“What should we do?” Blain was shaking with fear.

“Nothing. Not while they have the guns,” B’Elanna whispered viciously. Her eyes never moved from the guards and their weapons. Her fight or flight response, Tom knew, was mostly fight, and she was battling to follow her own advice. He envied her, her naturally defiant Klingon genes. What did he have to fall back on? Old Starfleet ancestry: the art of small talk at formal events, some well-placed Federation connections, a genetic predisposition to enjoy bourbon.

A small group of the new hedgehog aliens had gathered a few meters in front of B’Elanna and Tom, and were speaking to each other, gesticulating. Tom’s hand went to his chest and he realized then that his commbadge was gone. No translator.

One of the violet hedgehogs approached, studied his alien PADD a few moments, then studied B’Elanna’s face. He called to one of his Kordaien associates, who trotted over and immediately thrust his weapon into B’Elanna’s ribcage and shouted something unintelligible at her.

“Fuck you,” B’Elanna said to the Kordaien guard, who just grunted in response, using his weapon to aggressively hinge her body away from the wall.

“Hey! Take it easy!” Tom stepped forward, his own fight or flight response now leaning very decidedly toward fight. The Kordaien moved his weapon off of B’Elanna just long enough to shove the point of it hard into Tom’s chest, pushing him back against the pale green wall. Tom could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

The Kordaien turned back to B’Elanna, violently pushing her forward toward the series of doors on the other side of the room. She looked at Tom; determination blazed in her eyes. She said nothing, and allowed the Kordaien to prod her toward the doors. The hedgehog walked alongside the pair, unruffled by the violence, still studying the contents of their PADD.

B’Elanna disappeared behind one of the doors. The same scene was playing out over and over across the room. There was screaming, begging, crying, cursing. Crewman Henley spit on one of the Kordaien, and received a punch to the gut that brought her to her knees. Lieutenant Carey went easily with the guard, but Tom saw the defiance in his eyes.

He wished they had had more time in the cargo bay, more time to come up with a plan. He hadn’t expected that they would be separated so soon. Bile rose in his throat.

Beside him, Ensign Blain was crying now, almost hysterical. “What are they doing to us? Are they going to kill us? What do we do?”

“I don’t know, Ensign,” Tom said, his voice fracturing.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten months in a Federation Penal Settlement hadn’t prepared him for this at all.

Not more than a few minutes after B’Elanna had been dragged away, a Kordaien guard had manhandled Tom through those same mysterious doors and into a small green room. The room contained a large operating table lined with straps. Impulsively, Tom attempted to turn away, clawing at the Kordaien’s sticky grey skin and fighting his way back into the corridor. There was a quick pinch on his neck, and the world went black.

Tom woke up in a very small white cubicle. No bed, no window, four shiny walls and a real door instead of a forcefield. Solitary confinement. His Starfleet uniform was gone, and he was now dressed in a shiny silver jumpsuit. His entire right arm felt strangely heavy, and numb. He reached with his left hand to touch his right arm and was startled to find a prominent ridge underneath the fabric of the jumpsuit. He carefully pulled up his sleeve to examine his arm. There was a silver armband implanted around his bicep. It had markings along the outer edge, and a very small nozzle or plug next to the markings. He pressed and prodded at the device but could not determine its purpose.

The purpose became alarmingly clear as the numb sensation wore off, and was replaced with pain. It was a pain like nothing he had ever felt before, radiating from his upper arm, and drilling along his nervous system, into his spinal cord and feet, his fingertips, the back of his head. He tried stretching, changing position, clawing at the armband. What sort of diabolical device was this?

He was curled up on the floor in the fetal position when the door to his cell slid open and one of the alien hedgehogs showed up, grunting and motioning that Tom should follow. Tom could only stare angrily at the hedgehog, the heavy cloak of pain preventing him from responding with appropriate rage. But then the hedgehog did something magical: he pulled a small orange cylinder from his pocket, placed it against the metal armband on Tom’s upper arm and pressed a button. Immediately Tom’s pain level changed, dropping to an uncomfortable pressure on the right side of his body. Tom gasped at the sudden, strange rush, scratching at the armband, unsure what had just happened. The hedgehog again motioned for him to follow, and this time Tom stared at the hedgehog in wonder for a few seconds. He should refuse to cooperate, insist on being freed. He should at least demand some answers to some questions. But that pain medication… was there more where that came from?

His new hedgehog friend led him down a series of corridors and into another small room. Tom immediately recognized the room for what it was: a holographic flight simulator. The hedgehog sat him down, barked at Tom, and then took out another orange cylinder, waggling it in his face.

Tom understood that cylinder, if not the language. He turned to the controls, hoping he could make sense of them quickly, and was surprised to find them labelled in Federation Standard: thrusters, pitch, altimeter. His somewhat colorful piloting history had given him a good bit of experience flying unfamiliar ships, and he mastered the controls quickly, completing each simulated course with relative ease. His pain was still intense and distracting; he really had to force himself to focus.

When the simulator was turned off, Tom got out, and the alien hedgehog said something to him. Tom very readily received another injection on his armband. The pain dropped down to a manageable ache.

He was taken back to his cell after that, and enjoyed the much lower pain level for at least a few hours. Another hedgehog brought him a meal of unknown origin and substance, which he gratefully ate. He fell asleep on the floor of his cell, but woke up not much later wincing in his sleep. The pain was rising again, the ache in his bicep flowing out into his nervous system, throbbing.

Tom had spent so little of his life in any amount of physical pain, and was surprised by how all-consuming it was. It fogged his mind, made it difficult to think. He couldn’t contemplate escape, he couldn’t think about anything except the pain that was slowly ratcheting up and ravaging his body as the hours ticked by.

He couldn’t tell what time it was—the light never changed—but when the next alien hedgehog showed up with another meal, Tom found himself banging on the door and yelling. “Hey! You forgot the injection! Hey!” The hedgehog went on with his business as if he couldn’t even hear his prisoner.

It seemed like a whole day had passed now. Tom’s pain was nearly as bad as it had been on that very first day. He left his next meal untouched. He was desperate for the medication, for the injection. Relief washed over Tom when his door finally opened and another hedgehog walked in with an orange cylinder in his hands. He again received the injection, and then followed this hedgehog to another new room, this time completing a series of assessments on a screen. A second orange cylinder injection was given at the completion of these tests, just like last time. He was nearly free of pain now, and felt a little more functional. As Tom followed the hedgehog back through the corridors he searched around corners for signs of any of his missing friends. He thought he saw a flash of Harry’s black hair, but couldn’t be certain.

He was locked back into his cell again. He ate, slept, and thought about escape. When the next violet hedgehog came to get him, not too much later, Tom found his resolve strengthened by the lack of pain. He received another injection, bringing his pain level down to almost zero. He hadn’t felt this strong since his arrival, and he knew this was his chance.

He was meekly following this hedgehog through the corridors when he spotted what appeared to be an unlocked set of double doors down a long white hallway. Tom seized his opportunity, breaking off from his hedgehog escort and dashing toward the doors. He had this idea that he could find one of those Kordaien weapons, take it, demand that he and his crew be set free. It had seemed like a good idea, but by the time Tom reached the double doors he realized how foolish he had been. He didn’t even know where he was, what kind of spaceship he was on. He had no idea where his friends were.

His little escape ploy ended in spectacular failure when several hedgehogs appeared out of nowhere, easily subduing him and dragging him back to his cell. He was locked in again, alone, but it was only hours later that he realized the real consequences of his actions.

No hedgehog came with food; no hedgehog came with medication. And as the pain grew by the hour, so did Tom’s desperation. The pain was a constant electrical current through all his muscles and bones, his teeth almost vibrating in agony. It got so bad that he couldn’t sleep, he could barely move, his muscles and bones were being consumed. He thought maybe two days had passed now, but he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to die. How little it had taken to get him to that point. He wanted to cry, but the pain was so bad he couldn’t even do that.

His door opened and a hedgehog walked back in. The hedgehog knelt down next to him, pushed up his sleeve, and administered the pain medication. He did cry then, with relief.

After that episode, each day passed like the rest. He completed various assessments and tests, and in return received two meals and two pain injections daily. He was still in pain, a tolerable but distracting level of pain. He found himself adapting quickly, looking forward to the arrival of the hedgehog who would lead him through the next test and then give him his injection, his sugar water reward.

He neither heard nor saw any of the rest of the crew. He still peered around corners as the hedgehog of the day (or was it always the same one?) lead him from hallway to hallway. He lay on the floor in his cell, completely quiet, straining to hear the sounds of another Alpha Quadrant humanoid. Nothing.

He still thought about escape. He knew he needed to do something; he couldn’t stay here forever. But somehow he never got very far on those plans. He always had to wait for the next injection. And then the next. They had become the major touchstones in his day: orange cylinder number one, orange cylinder number two.

On this particular day he was well overdue for orange cylinder number one, and it was making him testy. When a hedgehog finally came to retrieve him from his cell, he was not immediately offered his first injection of the day. Instead the hedgehog motioned at Tom to follow. Tom hesitated, thinking maybe he should demand his injection first, but thought better of it. Best not to make a scene.

Although he hadn’t managed to create much of a mental map of the place, it quickly became obvious that he was being brought to a new part of this ship. He was led down a new series of corridors and into a large shuttlebay. A single vessel, dull and rusty, about twice the size of a class two shuttlecraft, occupied the center of the smooth, white shuttlebay. In front of it stood a new hedgehog, very different from the others Tom had encountered. He was rotund, almost comically spherical, dressed in a bright red jumpsuit that pulled at the seams around his center. He gave off a strange, sickly smell, and his yellow eyes seemed dull. The spines on his head and neck were sparse, revealing grey, scaly skin.

The fat hedgehog approached Tom, grasping Tom’s chin with his cold, sticky hands, wrenching Tom’s head from side to side, examining him. Then he moved his hands across Tom’s shoulders and chest, poking and prodding. The hedgehog barked something at Tom’s escort.

The alien men spoke to each other, trading a PADD back and forth, pointing and barking. Tom stood nervously, trying to shrug off the feeling of the man’s claws on him. He was agitated, confused by the manhandling, and also confused by his lack of medication. Had he misstepped somehow and was being punished? Had the hedgehog just forgotten the injection and Tom could give him a friendly reminder and then he could banish this pressing ache in the right side of his body?

They finished their business, and the rotund one barked at Tom. Tom looked to his original escort for confirmation, but the smaller hedgehog was already disappearing through the large doors and out of the shuttlebay. Tom was fighting panic now. Where was his injection?

The large hedgehog was still barking, his volume rising. He violently grabbed Tom’s arm, the one with the armband, and forcefully pulled Tom into the old shuttlecraft. The man’s small claws dug into Tom’s bicep, the sharp new pain mixing in with the continual misery blossoming from his right arm. Tom tried to pull back from the man’s grasp. He was surprised at how fervently he wanted to go back to his cell, back to the certainty of the assessments and the two injections every day. But the rotund hedgehog was both stronger and more vicious than he looked. He shoved Tom hard against the bulkhead as he manhandled him into the shuttlecraft, and then quickly shut the hatch. Tom got the impression that this man was very pissed off about something. Great.

The inside of the shuttlecraft was just as dilapidated as the exterior, and more grimy. Tom couldn’t tell if it was actually old or just extremely dirty, but it smelled disgusting and musty, much like its owner. The hedgehog was barking at him, and pointing with his whole hand to the seat behind the pilot’s chair. Tom sat obediently. He studied his surroundings, the shuttle controls, although not labeled in Standard, were similar enough to the flight simulator that he could consider an escape attempt. Tom pressed down on his right bicep with his fingers, feeling where the skin had been broken now, and hoping for pain medication soon. Maybe after that he could think more clearly and attempt escape.

The alien hedgehog was barking at him more loudly again, waiting for a response. Tom looked at him and shook his head. The alien repeated himself, this time getting up in Tom’s face. Tom shook his head again. The alien hedgehog made a strange sound, got up, and went to the back of the shuttle where he began violently pulling items down from the cupboards, discarding box after box of what looked like spare parts. Tom was hopeful that the alien was searching for the pain medication, but he came back instead with a small carton of tiny metal discs. He grabbed Tom by the face again—that was definitely going to leave a mark—twisted Tom’s head around, and forcefully pushed one of the discs into Tom’s ear.

“You understand me now?” The alien hedgehog had let go of Tom’s face. Tom blinked, startled at hearing Standard.

“I understand you,” he said.

“Finally,” the man thrust the empty box back into one of the upended cupboards behind him. “What’s your name, pilot?”

Tom paused to consider his options. Fake name? Full name? Nickname? Just keep it simple. “Tom,” he said.

“And you are a pilot, correct?”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “How did you know?”

“Good,” the hedgehog grunted. “I paid a high price for a good pilot.”

“You… paid for me?” He felt chilled all of a sudden, sick.

The hedgehog didn’t respond to that, but sat in the pilot’s seat, and carefully poked at the controls. Tom could hear some sort of engine whirring to life under the floor. The viewscreen in the shuttlecraft switched on, showing the bright white interior of the shuttle bay. The wide doors before them slowly opened, revealing a swath of unfamiliar stars. The floor began to vibrate more violently, and then there was a great knocking sound, and sudden jolting as the ship moved out into space. The round alien thrust a pudgy hand into one of his jumpsuit pockets, pulling out a small, thin cylinder. Not the pain medication. He activated the cylinder with a touch, inhaling something from it deeply. When he exhaled, the musty smell in the shuttlecraft intensified.

“I think there’s been some mistake,” Tom coughed as he spoke, trying to focus his mind above the pain. “I’m not a slave. I’m from a planet called Earth in the Alpha Quadrant. It’s very far from here, about seventy-thousand light-years. I was on a ship called _Voyager_ and my crew was captured by—”

“The Emil?”

“Um, no.”

“The Kordaien then. They bring in a lot of workers. Species like yours, traveling too far from home. Seventy-thousand light-years away, you say?” The hedgehog was sucking greedily on the cylinder, some kind of cigarette, between sentences. The heft of the man’s body and his puffy face were visibly relaxing. “Sounds like your crew got lucky!” The rotund alien man was laughing now, jolly.

“Lucky? What do you mean?” Tom’s body was hurting, and either the pain or the smell in this shuttle was making him light-headed as hell.

The man leaned over and magnanimously patted the chair next to him. “You sit here now.”

Tom complied, moving up to the co-pilot’s seat. The small craft moved forward, now displaying a very orange planet below. It was rippled with what appeared to be thousands of long rivers making their way toward a single, gigantic ocean.

“Ah, I know Tilnauch isn’t much to look at, and we lack the comforts and refinement of life on Tilnauch-Alpha, but our planet is special. The heart of Nauchan culture!”

“Tilnauch-Alpha?”

“The space station! The pinnacle of technology in this sector. You truly know nothing if you haven’t yet admired the wonder of Tilnauch-Alpha. Let me show you.” The vessel groaned, and Tom’s stomach flipped as the alien man directed the shuttle away from the planet, out toward the stars, and then punched up the power on the engines. The combination of intense pain and now nausea was causing Tom to sweat. He stifled a groan.

“Look, look, pay attention Tom Pilot.” The man was motioning at the stars on the viewscreen. “Out there are the Kwil. Over that way, the Nortadae. Back that way, the Kazon. All would happily kill you and your people for nothing, for sport, for fun.” The man pulled another cigarette from his pocket, activating it and bringing it to his lips just as the previous one stopped emitting the musty odor. “This quadrant is no place for travelers,” he continued. “Especially weak little things like you, so far from home. And if the Kordaien were able to take you, imagine how easily the Kwil or the Nortadae would have captured you. And they don’t sell their captives into safety here, no. You would not still be alive, Tom Pilot, if you had run into them. You are very lucky to be here, lucky to be in the employ of Neefa Swain.”

“Neefa Swain?”

“Neefa Swain.” The man smiled broadly, showing all of his nubby teeth as he did. “Owner of Neefa Swain Corporation. A leading trader of goods on Tilnauch! Ah, you are so lucky.”

The shuttlecraft was still accelerating, and Tom was surprised at how much he could feel. It definitely wasn’t just the smell causing his nausea, there was something wrong with the inertial dampeners. He had grown so accustomed to working on a ship where the inertial dampeners were regularly tested and tuned. He felt an emptiness in his stomach, wondered where B’Elanna was, if she had an armband too.

Tom closed his eyes as he felt the shuttle coming around now, fighting the urge to vomit all over the console in front of him. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, he saw the entire orange and blue sphere of the planet Tilnauch below him, and circling the equator was a massive white ring. Tom had never seen anything like it before.

“Is that Tilnauch-Alpha? The space station? Where I was just now?” he asked.

“Yes.” Neefa Swain answered as he coughed more musty smoke into the shuttlecraft. “Most Nauchans live on Tilnauch-Alpha now. But you are lucky, you will breathe the fresh air of Tilnauch’s surface, and you will see many of its sights! We will keep you very busy.” Neefa Swain laughed to himself again, moving his stubby hands across the console, sending the shuttle flying back toward the planet.

Tom was still examining the ring of Tilnauch-Alpha, searching desperately for _Voyager_ , surely docked somewhere. No luck. Were his crewmates still there, on the space station, or had they been sold into slavery on the planet as well? How would he ever manage to find them?

The derelict spacecraft started to shake violently as it made contact with the atmosphere, and Tom steadied himself with both hands, again willing himself to not vomit. He hoped whatever he was supposed to be flying for Neefa Swain would have better inertial dampeners than this.


	4. Chapter 4

The shuttlecraft hatch had opened and Tom turned toward the orange light, desperate for some fresh air to quell his nausea. He took a deep breath and the taste of blood pooled on his tongue. Iron. Iron in the soil to make the planet orange, iron in the air to make his mouth taste like he had just been in a bar fight. Great.

Neefa Swain had activated another musty cylinder after landing and was holding it to his lips, motioning for Tom to follow him out of the shuttlecraft. Tom stood, pressing his right arm against his side. He hadn’t had an injection yet, and his pain really had worsened since they had left the space station. Was he supposed to ask Neefa Swain for the medication? He didn’t know if he should expect an injection from Neefa Swain or not. He didn’t know if he should expect anything from Neefa Swain who seemed to have experienced some sort of complete personality reversal in the short time Tom had already known him. He could still feel the sharp tingle of his new owner’s claws on his chin.

Neefa Swain lumbered slowly across the compound, and Tom had plenty of time to examine his new surroundings as he trudged behind the round man. The planet had been orange from above, and was orange up close as well, but also exceedingly dusty. Neefa Swain’s compound was surrounded by a wall at least eight meters high. There were several dilapidated buildings on one end of the compound, and a large partially-covered hangar area on the other. The compound wall looked to be made of stacked planks and mortar, but appeared to be more solid than the buildings.The buildings were all identical single story rectangles in shades of brown. Tom couldn’t get a good look at it, but the ship parked inside the large hangar appeared to be an abandoned cargo vessel, imposing but run-down.

“Come, Tordy will get you settled,” Neefa Swain said, as they approached one of the brown buildings. Neefa Swain climbed the three stairs up to the door with some difficulty, and Tom followed him into the dark interior of the building, squinting. The ceiling was low, maybe only a half meter above Tom’s head, and the room was just as dingy and musty as everything else here. Storage containers and abandoned electronics were piled high against the walls. The only furniture was a large desk in the center of the room. The slight Talaxian man who had been sitting stood quickly upon their entrance, standing at attention with an air of nervousness. The familiar mottled skin and puffed hair of a Talaxian provided Tom with a brief measure of hope. Here was someone who could help him.

“Tordy!” Neefa Swain coughed out the name with a puff of smoke. “I have Tom, our new pilot. You will see to his training, yes? And quickly then?”

“Of course, Neefa Swain,” the skinny Talaxian said, practically bowing as he said it.

The Nauchan man departed, panting, and a little unsteady on his feet now, heading to the open door at the other end of the room. Tom caught sight of a large desk and some sort of elaborate reclining couch before Neefa Swain closed the door behind him. Tom eagerly turned back to the Talaxian man, who was sitting again and studying Tom with a look of disdain.

“I had hoped for more muscle on the new pilot,” the Talaxian said, crisply, as if he were assessing a new shuttlecraft.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tom quipped. The Talaxian only glared more fiercely, his distaste unchanged by Tom’s attempt at humor. It seemed this man had very little in common with _Voyager_ ’s friendly chef and Delta Quadrant ambassador. There were physical differences too: Tordy’s hair was cut quite short in the back, unlike Neelix’s lengthy mane, and his whiskers were also cropped. His skin mottling was very pale as well, and Tom wasn’t sure what, if anything, that meant.

“What species are you?” Tordy inquired.

“I’m human,” Tom said, slowly. “From the Alpha Quadrant. I was captured and—”

“I do not care about that part,” Tordy waved his hand at him. “Are you able to fly?” He was punching away at the small computer console on his desk as he asked.

“I can fly. I’m a pilot.”

“You can fly. But can you land with precision in a crowded port? Are you strong enough to load and unload your wares? Are you smart enough to count the goods and savvy enough to confront a dealer who shorts you? Neefa Swain thinks only of the flying. He forgets the many other tasks his workers must accomplish.”

“I think I can handle all that,” Tom said, wondering what would happen if the answer was no. Would they send him back up to the space station? Back to the injections and the assessments? Would that be better or worse? At least there he always had his two daily injections.

Tordy sniffed at that, his eyes moving to Tom’s left hand pressing on his right bicep. “How is your pain? Do you need a _tumen_?”

“A what?”

“The injection.” Tordy sounded exasperated. “For the pain.” Tordy pulled open a desk drawer, and held up a familiar orange cylinder. He pulled up his own sleeve and indicated his armband, which Tom hadn’t noticed until now. Tordy’s armband was stained with a patina of age, the characters on the edge almost indistinguishable. So Tordy was a slave too. He held the cylinder out to Tom, who eagerly took it.

Tom had never done the injection on himself before, and he fumbled with the cylinder, struggling to position it correctly over the port and press the button. Tordy watched as Tom finally activated the _tumen_ , sighing as his pain dropped.

“Do you need another?” Tordy held another cylinder out to him. Tom eyed it suspiciously. He had never had two _tumen_ in a row before. Was this a test?

“Your new employer can be generous,” Tordy said, with almost a hint of sympathy in his voice. “He prefers his workers to be free of the pain from the armband.”

Tom reached out and took the second _tumen_ , administering it to himself much more quickly this time. The electric crawling of the pain disappeared, almost completely.

“Neefa Swain believes his pilots work better when they are not in pain. He may be correct about this, but previous pilots have taken advantage of Neefa Swain’s generosity,” Tordy said to Tom, sympathy now erased from his voice. “Your supply of _tumen_ will be withheld if there is any evidence of bad behavior.”

“I understand,” Tom said. And he did. Anything to keep the pain from coming back.

“Good,” Tordy said. The Talaxian opened another drawer and pulled out a set of PADDs, similar to the ones Tom had seen the Nauchans using up on the space station. He thumbed through them.

“Your language?” he barked at Tom.

“It’s called Federation Standard,” Tom said. With his eyes adjusted to the low light, and his pain now gone he was able to see his surroundings more clearly. He noticed for the first time a small cot behind Tordy’s desk, piled high with perfectly folded blankets, and a series of low, locked cupboards running along the back wall. The walls were pockmarked and stained. No windows, no decoration.

“Is this your language?” Tordy held out a PADD for Tom, who squinted at the dusty screen: _Tilnauch Trade Protocols and Procedures._

“Yes. How did you have Federation—”

“All new worker species have their language downloaded from their ships’ computers into our databanks,” Tordy said, impatiently. “How else would you complete the assessments? How would we train you?” Tordy shoved several more PADDs into Tom’s hand as he spoke. “You will study these. All the rules and regulations you must know before you can begin work. Come.” Tom took the three PADDs, carrying them carefully with both hands, like a first-year cadet on the first day of classes, and followed Tordy back out into the dusty orange sunlight, toward the abandoned vessel in the opposite corner of the compound.

“Food is stored there, for when you resupply your vessel.” Tordy motioned at one of the other buildings. “One of our previous pilots was sharing food with other workers and was caught. It caused great embarrassment to Neefa Swain Corporation and we lost that trade contract. Now I tally the food stores, so do not take more than is needed just for you, Tom Pilot. We do not share food or _tumen_ or supplies with other workers.”

“What happened to that pilot?” Tom asked. Tordy tensed his body at the question, his expression grim.

“Neefa Swain did the only honorable thing and killed her himself,” Tordy said. “It was not quick.” Tom’s breath caught in his throat.

The Talaxian walked much more quickly than his Nauchan boss. Tom had wanted to surveil the compound better now that he was pain-free, but was having some difficulty keeping up. They approached the large covered hangar, and the abandoned cargo vessel.

“This is your ship,” Tordy said, waving his hand in front of a control panel on one of the massive landing feet. A giant gangway groaned as it dropped slowly to the ground.

Tom realized his initial appraisal had been incorrect. The ship was indeed old, but was less grimy and probably in better shape than the shuttle he had shared with Neefa Swain earlier in the day.

“Cargo area here.” Tordy walked up the gangway, motioning to the cavernous space that made up the entire bottom two-thirds of the vessel. “Cockpit and living quarters are above.” Tordy began carefully climbing a ladder just inside the cargo bay, and Tom followed, first sliding his pile of PADDs into one of the large pockets of his silver jumpsuit. He felt so much lighter without the constant pain in the right half of his body.

They emerged into a rectangular room, a little larger than Tom’s quarters back on _Voyager_. The portal brought them up right next to a small kitchenette and a table. Two bunks were punched into the wall at the far end, and next to the bunks a small door that Tom guessed led to the lavatory. Access panels, consoles, and cupboards filled the walls. A few spare parts were piled up on the table, and a cupboard in the kitchenette was open, revealing various containers of what must be food. But the blankets on the bunks were both nicely folded, and the place lacked the musty smell and grimy feel of everything else in this compound.

“This is your living area,” Tordy said. “Lavatory through there. Now, the cockpit.”

Tordy walked to the cockpit area, which was separated from the living space by a half wall. Tom’s heart started pounding, and his adrenaline surged. This was it. He could easily take Tordy down by himself, especially without the pain in his arm. He could dump the Talaxian, and take this ship back up to the space station. Rescue everyone.

Of course he had to find them all first. And find _Voyager_. Dock at the space station. Avoid the Nauchan authorities. Function through the inevitable return of the armband pain. He had already talked himself out of it by the time he noticed the real problem with this plan: this vessel was not a spacecraft. He recognized the engine configuration. There was not enough power behind her to even break into the stratosphere.

“You can fly this, yes?” Tordy interrupted Tom as his thoughts cycled from excitement to disappointment.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “I might need a day of practice, just to get the feel for it.” Tordy sniffed at that, staring hard at Tom.

“You are thinking of escape,” Tordy said.

“No, I—”

“All new workers wish to escape. Let me save you the trouble and tell you what you need to know. The armband is a tracking device as well as a pain device. Should you go beyond your set boundary the pain will spike. The neurostimulation kills most worker species within a day.” Tom blinked, staring at Tordy. “Your work for Neefa Swain Corporation will take you to many ports, but your tracking is tied to this vessel. You will be confined to this ship in the evenings, and given a small radius of freedom for completing your tasks during the day. There will be consequences for attempted escape. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

“When you begin your routes you will see many workers who are not treated so well as we are here. We are lucky to be in the employ of Neefa Swain. I warn you now: do not do anything to jeopardize your employment here.”

There was that word again: lucky. Maybe there was something to that, considering this sudden luxury of living without pain. Maybe his luck would continue today if he could get Tordy to answer a few questions for him.

“I won’t try to escape,” Tom assured Tordy. “But I… I came here with some friends. I want to find out where they’re at, just to make sure they’re okay. Is there a way to—”

“Put them out of your mind,” Tordy snapped. “There is no way. They are in the care of other employers, and it is likely better if you do not know.” Tordy paused. “The day is nearly done. I will leave you here to study the manuals. Tomorrow morning I will come and we will discuss the regulations and I will take you on your practice flight. Neefa Swain wants you ready to fly in two days. I suggest you don’t disappoint your new employer.”

Tordy moved back to the portal, down the ladder, and his footsteps echoed through the empty cargo area as he left. The cargo bay doors groaned shut again. Tom wasn’t entirely sure if he was locked in or not.

He went back to the living area and sat on the bench at the small table, pulling the pile of PADDs out of his jumpsuit pocket and setting them out in a row. He sighed. Despite Tordy’s warnings, he knew there was an escape plan in this situation somewhere, he just had to find it.

But first he had to find the rest of the crew.

He sucked in air through his clenched teeth as he pictured the last time he saw B’Elanna, being prodded toward those doors. Had she fought them on the other side? Did she get an armband too or had she been killed attempting escape? It was hard to picture B’Elanna acquiescing to the situation as easily as Tom had. And what about the rest of the senior officers? He hadn’t seen any of them in the cargo bay. He had thought he had caught a glimpse of Neelix’s hair when they were being marched through deck eight on their way to the docking port, but he couldn’t be sure. Doyle was dead, that was for sure. Blain was alive, or had been. Who else had he seen in the cargo bay? Jenkins, Reynolds, Henard.

An idea came to him. Tom poked around on the PADD in his hands, eventually figuring out how to dismiss the flight maps. Was there a place to make notes or start a new document? There was. He started a new document, titled it ‘Manifest’ and began typing.

He started with the senior staff, then went through, department by department, shift by shift, filling in as many names as he could from memory.

_B’Elanna Torres_

_Susan Nicoletti_

_Mortimer Harren_

_William Chapman_

And the Doctor! What had happened to the Doctor? Was he still on the ship, buried in a hidden file somewhere? He doubted the Doctor had been captured, but Tom put his name on the list anyway.

He had 135 names in the end, not quite everyone, but close. The others would come to him in time. He added a column for location, and a column for status. For Doyle he noted _deceased_ in the status column, and in his own he entered _alive_. For his location he wrote _Tilnauch - Neefa Swain’s_.

He scanned through the list. Creating it had been satisfying, but studying the long empty columns now was not. He set the PADD down on the table, and looked around at his surroundings: table, kitchenette, bunks, small cockpit. He had moved from a small white prison to a large beige one. His fellow slave was more uptight than a Vulcan and almost aggressively unfriendly. His new owner was… well Tom wasn’t sure what to think of Neefa Swain. Maybe unpredictable was the word. At least Tordy had been consistent in his standoffishness. This was a strange new prison with strange wardens.

He closed his eyes briefly, willing down the thick, hard feeling of loneliness that was growing in his stomach. He saved the manifest document on the PADD, and found his way back to the flight maps and protocol manual that Tordy had loaded for him. He went and stretched himself out on the bottom bunk, enjoying his ability to move without wincing, and began to study. For now, at least, he would do what he had to do to keep the _tumen_ coming.


	5. Chapter 5

“This is new business for Neefa Swain.” Tordy handed a PADD to Tom. “Important business. We cannot afford any mistakes.”

Tom smiled to himself in amusement. He had been working for Neefa Swain for thirty-two days now, and he knew that Tordy referred to all of Neefa Swain’s business as important business.

“I understand,” Tom said, his usual response. He took the PADD from Tordy.

“The Retener route is a three day circuit,” Tordy continued. “One day to Retener, a night at Retener, another day to Avil, a night in Avil, and then back here to resupply.” Tom scrolled through the information quickly.

“I haven’t been to Retener yet,” Tom commented. “It looks like it’s on the edge of the… uh… mountains…” He squinted at the small map on the PADD in the low light of Tordy’s office.

“The Aratener Mountain Range,” Tordy supplied. “Retener Corporation does extensive mining in the mountains, but the ore is extremely unstable and difficult to transport. It is processed and assembled into power cells on site. It is a… harsh place,” Tordy added as he pulled a supply of nine _tumen_ from his desk drawer, placing them in a satchel for Tom. “Let your time in Retener be a reminder to you of how lucky you are to work for Neefa Swain.”

“Right, see you in three days,” Tom said, genuinely grateful, as always, to accept the supply of _tumen_ from Tordy’s mottled hands. He was also grateful to be headed back to Avil after his stop at Retener. He had been there twice already—it was the major cargo port for Tilnauch-Alpha—and during his last visit he could have sworn he had spotted a human worker, although he hadn’t been able to confirm it. Avil’s nearby sister city, Torshun, was the major port for commercial shuttles flying to and from Tilnauch-Alpha. The whole complex seemed like a prime spot for locating his people, and he was anxious to get back and look more closely at the other workers there.

Tom had been on Tilnauch for about a month now, and it had only taken him a few days of flying his new trade routes to see the truth in Tordy’s oft-repeated proclamation of their good luck. Tom’s daily ration of three _tumen_ kept him completely free of pain. He was well-fed, clean, and safe in his small living space. But this life of relative comfort and safety was the exception to the rule, it seemed.

Tom had had a lot of opportunity to assess the pain levels of the other workers, and had become quite adept at reading pain in a worker’s body language. A low level of pain resulted in a very slightly hunched back, and an infrequent grimace. Workers in very little pain tended to absently rub at their armband every few minutes, or shrug their shoulders as if working out a kink in their necks. The hallmarks of severe pain were strained breathing, a very particular shuffle, and the right arm pressed tightly against the body. Most workers on Tilnauch seemed to endure something between the two extremes, and the different ports all seemed to have different set pain levels for their workers.

Every time he saw a worker struggling along under the yoke of extreme pain he thought of his satchel full of _tumen_. It wouldn’t be that hard to slip one from his pocket and into someone else’s pocket. The Nauchans would never find out. He knew from experience what a huge difference a single _tumen_ could make when your pain was turned up high like that. Sure, he would be short a _tumen_ , but it wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. Right? Right.

He couldn’t quite get himself to go through with it. Tom had traded constant pain for constant fear of pain.

Tom said goodbye to Tordy and left the small administrative building, heading back out into the dusty orange Nauchan morning, and ran into Neefa Swain. Neefa Swain held one of his favorite narcotic cylinders in one hand—Tom had learned it was called a _fluordin_ —and pulled himself up the steps with difficulty. Despite the distinctly terrible smell, Tom was glad to see the _fluordin_. Neefa Swain was always exceedingly friendly and generous when he had an activated _fluordin_ with him. And when he didn’t… well, that happened rarely, but Tom had learned quickly why Tordy jumped to attention when his employer walked through those doors. And why the walls in the administrative building looked so battered.

“Ah! Tom Pilot! Heading to Retener today! Big business for us!”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded at him. “I’m headed out now—”

“Yes yes,” Neefa Swain gasped. “You must not be late!” He paused on the stairs, taking the opportunity to take another drag from the _fluordin_.

Tom nodded goodbye to his employer and made his way across the orange dirt to his cargo vessel, which he had christened the _74656_ . Nauchan tradition was for the pilot of a vessel to pick a series of lucky numbers in lieu of a name for the ship. Tom had immediately chosen _Voyager_ ’s number, _74656_. Tordy had grumbled that 6 was a very unlucky number on Tilnauch, but had accepted the ship’s new designation.

Tom had grown strangely fond of the _74656_. She didn’t handle very well, but at least that provided a bit of a challenge. Tom had adapted his piloting to her limitations, and was beginning to enjoy pushing her to her limits. He thought of the vessel as a prison, but also his safe haven. From her cockpit he watched the strangely beautiful orange landscape of Tilnauch unfolding. During the day the cargo hold of the _74656_ was busy with the bustle of the local port’s workers loading and unloading cargo, but in the evening Tom stood alone in that same cargo hold and watched the gangway close him in. He ate and slept in the living space, silent, alone. A painful contrast to the robust social life he had enjoyed on _Voyager_.

He had attempted several times to engage the other workers in friendly conversation, but his efforts were met with sneers of disapproval from the Nauchan guards, and averted eyes from the other workers. He searched in every port for a familiar face, a human or Bajoran or Bolian or half-Klingon, but so far he hadn’t located even one other member of the crew. Although he had finally filled in all the names, his manifest was mostly large columns of blank space: one person dead, one person accounted for, 152 persons missing. But maybe they were all together, and he was the missing person.

Tom turned his eyes skyward as he approached the _74656_. During the day, Tilnauch-Alpha was a grey smear across the sky, but at night it was a brilliant arch in a backdrop of stars. On nights when his restlessness and loneliness became intolerable he would go outside and stand against the _74656_ and gaze at it. It was always different, always impressive: the pinnacle achievement of a slave society.

He thought of B’Elanna frequently, now that he had settled into his role with Neefa Swain Corporation, and now that he didn’t have to live in fear of missing a _tumen_. It was a foolish way for him to spend his evenings, but she had occupied his thoughts quite a bit on _Voyager,_  and he was still drawn to the subject. It was a bittersweet topic now; he wished he had been more optimistic, more assertive in communicating his feelings to her. He wished he had known how limited their time together on _Voyager_ was going to be. He would have played it all differently if he had known.

“Cargo ship _74656_ departing for Retener,” Tom spoke into the comm once he had taken his seat in the cockpit. He activated the engines, pausing to rub a hand along his jawline. His beard had come in during his captivity on Tilnauch-Alpha, and he had decided to keep it, although now he trimmed it regularly. He often forgot it was there and would be startled by the soft scratch against his hand. His arms and back had already grown more muscled and strong in just these few weeks of loading and unloading goods. He wore the dark orange flight suit provided by Neefa Swain Corporation. He wondered if anyone from the _Voyager_ crew would even recognize him now.

“Acknowledged _74656_.” Tordy’s voice crackled through the old comm system. Tom coaxed the creaking cargo vessel up off the ground, carefully bringing her around to the proper heading.

The flight to Retener took most of the day, and Tom spent the time doing course adjustments and watching the landscape unfold around him. Tilnauch was an extremely dry planet, but the landscape was fascinating. The ocean he had seen from space on that first day with Neefa Swain was indeed the only one, and every river eventually joined it. The population was denser, and the climate much more humid, near the shoreline. Further inland there were only smaller cities and towns, dry and dusty. Neefa Swain’s compound was located at the threshold where the major cities gave way to smaller towns. Today Tom was headed far from the ocean, out to the Aratener Mountain Range.

Partway through his journey he injected one of the _tumen_ in his armband; if he waited too long the pain began to creep in. His days were built around his three daily _tumen_ , each injection a milepost on the passing hours. He often skipped lunch if he was busy, but he never skipped a _tumen_. He suspected his dependence had become somewhat psychological. Perhaps not unlike Neefa Swain’s dependence on the _fluordin_.

“Cargo ship _74656_ arriving, requesting clearance to land,” Tom spoke into his comm as he approached Retener. The mountain range was gorgeous, bathed in the glow of the ending day. Retener itself was a large compound of factory buildings situated right at the foothills of the mountains. There was a wide road coming out of the compound that twisted up into the mountains. As he came in to land he noted at least fifteen large buildings, and the tallest fence he had ever seen on Tilnauch. He was directed to the landing area inside the fence on the very far edge of the compound, and there he carefully dropped the _74656_ down to the ground.

He climbed down into the cargo bay, and opened the gangway, disembarking into a surprisingly cold climate. The air tasted even more thickly of blood, nearly causing him to spit. So much for fresh mountain air. The thin fabric of his jumpsuit did nothing to keep the cold at bay.

Tom tried to exchange pleasantries with the Nauchan who greeted him at the gangway, but the violet grey man just took the PADD from Tom’s hand, swiping through the paperwork and barking at the sullen gang of workers to get moving.

The landscape within the Retener compound was in direct contrast to the beauty of the mountain range above them. Everything was drab. The massive buildings were grey and windowless boxes, the ground gravel. Tom’s eyes were drawn from the buildings to the group of workers already beginning to move massive containers up the gangway and into the _74656_ ’s hold. They wore dull grey jumpsuits, and hollow looks of despair. He recognized the heavy breathing and twisted posture of chronic, awful pain. He didn’t recognize most of the species, so couldn’t say for sure, but thought most of them looked extremely gaunt, and many of them sported what looked like fresh wounds. Tom shivered again.

As soon as the Nauchan handed the PADD back to him he slid it into his jumpsuit pocket, and joined the group of workers at the gangway, helping to push the massive containers up and into place. He felt conspicuously strong and well-fed.

He helped push the last container into place just as the sky was changing to dusk. The workers departed and Tom crawled through the containers, opening them at random to check the contents. There were four massive power cells in each one, bound for the port city of Avil tomorrow. He emerged from this hold, satisfied with his spot check, and allowed the impatient Nauchan waiting at the end of the gangway to sign off on the paperwork. The Nauchan departed without a word.

Tom sat down at the end of the gangway, finishing up his forms, and trying to soak in the last rays of light and what passed for fresh air before he was confined within the _74656_ for the evening. A low triple buzz had sounded, and workers were streaming out of the factories now, likely headed to their evening meal. He looked at the line of coughing workers with pity, and a little bit of envy. Although he never saw the them speak to each other, he often felt this way when he observed the larger communities of workers. At least they weren’t alone.

There wasn’t much to envy here, though. He would choose the isolation of the _74656_ over this shuffling mass.

Then he saw her, and he stopped breathing for a moment. Her hair was just a little bit longer, more unkempt, and he couldn’t tell if she was skinnier or if she just looked that way in the grey jumpsuit she was wearing. There was a new stiffness in her shoulders, and a slight twist in her posture. She was in pain. But B’Elanna Torres still radiated energy, even here.

Tom stood up, very suddenly, and had to stop himself from running to her. His heart was pounding, and he blinked his eyes against his disbelief.

She didn’t see him, and was still moving with the line. He had to do something to draw her attention. What could he do that wouldn’t draw the ire of the guards? He didn’t have time to think, and he hurled the PADD in his hand against the gangway; it made a loud clatter, metal on metal. He might have broken it. He didn’t care. Tordy would complain but he would get a new one.

Most of the workers, and one Nauchan guard, looked in his direction, startled. The Nauchan sneered at Tom’s clumsiness and turned away. The other workers looked back to the ground.

B’Elanna stared at him, brown eyes wide, her pace in the line slowing.

Now what?

She held out her palm, low against her hip, signaling him to stop. Don’t draw attention. Don’t come closer. Don’t follow. He subtly motioned to the interior of the _74656_. B’Elanna nodded back at him, and then looked away, quickening her pace so as to close the gap that had appeared ahead of her in the line.

He watched her form disappear around a corner, and that’s when he started to question his own sanity. Was the loneliness really getting so bad that he was starting to hallucinate now?


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as the last of the workers disappeared from view Tom climbed up into his living quarters. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Would B’Elanna be coming to him? Was he supposed to go to her somehow? Should he be expecting a message? He was on high alert, apprehensive and eager. He gave himself the _tumen_ that was coming up due. He knew he should try to eat something, but was too amped up to do so.

He decided to camp out down below for now, and wait. He climbed back down the ladder. Night had fallen outside, and the cavernous hold of the _74656_ was pitch black. Tom didn’t dare draw attention to his vessel by turning on the overhead lights in the cargo area. He set himself in a hidden spot at the top of the open gangway. It was cold, and he didn’t have a coat. Even inside, protected from the wind, his teeth chattered. But he feared missing B’Elanna, and would not go back up to his living quarters even for a blanket.

A great deal of time had passed, according to the small chronometer that Tom carried in his jumpsuit. Should he go find her? How far could he go this late at night before his armband tracking caused some sort of alert? He didn’t know; he had never tried. Why hadn’t he tried before?

She appeared so suddenly and so silently he thought she must be a hallucination. She was wearing a long grey coat over her grey jumpsuit now, and her posture was slightly twisted, her right arm pressed up against her body.

“B’Elanna,” he whispered.

“Tom,” she whispered back, and he pulled her in close in a friendly embrace. He wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing back on _Voyager_  but circumstances had changed. She flinched and did not return the embrace. Her breathing was ragged. She was in pain. Tom released her, nodding toward the ladder up to his living quarters.

“Can you make it up?” he whispered. She glared at him in response, as if the question was absurd, but Tom wasn’t blind. He saw evidence of the agony wrought by the armband in the way she moved as she pulled herself up the ladder.

“Nice ship,” she commented, as Tom came up through the portal behind her. She was steadying herself against the wall, standing with a curve to her back that made Tom wince. “Too bad it’s not spaceworthy.” Even the armband couldn’t stop her engineer’s eye for assessment.

“You’re in pain,” Tom observed as he closed the hatch. She just looked at him like he was an idiot.

He went directly to the drawer where he kept his supply of _tumen_ , grabbed one, and walked back to her. A look of surprise and then relief washed over her face when she saw the orange cylinder in his hand, and she turned her right arm to him, shrugging off her coat. He pushed her sleeve up to reveal her silver armband, identical to his, but also revealing the angry purple mottling of bruises on her arm, not dissimilar to the bruises Neefa Swain had left on Tom’s own arm and chin that first day. He pressed the _tumen_ against the armband port. She shuddered, and then relaxed. He pulled his hand away, feeling like he had crossed some strange new line of intimacy with her.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thanks. Where did you get that?” She pulled her coat back tightly around herself. Was she cold? Or self-conscious?

“My employer gives me a supply when I travel,” he said. She was casting her eyes around his living quarters again, and Tom felt strangely vulnerable. Tordy had been here several times during his first few days working for Neefa Swain, but otherwise Tom had not shared this space with anyone.

“Your employer?” she asked.

“He’s a merchant,” Tom said. “I pick up and deliver cargo. The power cells in the hold are going to Avil tomorrow.” She was studying him very closely now, assessing him, just as he was assessing her. She was definitely skinner.

“Avil?”

“The major port city for Tilnauch-Alpha,” he said. She narrowed her eyes, and shook her head. “The space station?” He tried again. “Where we were held those first couple days?” He remembered the last time he saw her face, bathed in a soft green glow, angry, ready to fight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, testily.

“Let me get you something to eat and we’ll catch up,” Tom said, pointing her toward the table a few meters away.

“Do you have something to eat?”

“I do, but I haven’t figured out how to read the Nauchan alphabet yet, so I’m still figuring out what’s edible and what’s not.”

She slid into the bench on the far side of the table, leaning against the wall while Tom pulled canisters and containers from the kitchen cupboard. He was trying to remember which ones were the most palatable, and trying to stop thinking about what happened to the last pilot of Neefa Swain’s who shared food. He pushed the thought aside, and returned to the table with two bowls of biscuit-y, cracker-y items. He slid them both toward B’Elanna, and then sat across from her at the table. He was trying not to stare at her, but he was afraid if he looked away she would disappear. And then he would know it had all been an illusion brought on by his loneliness.

But she was staring at him too, maybe thinking the same thing.

“How long have you been here?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Twenty-six days since I started counting.” Her face clouded. “Where’s everyone else?”

“You’re the first one I’ve found,” he said, suddenly remembering his manifest, glad to be able to finally add something in the column next to B’Elanna’s name. “Is it just you here?”

“Yeah. Nicoletti and Vorik were on the same transport as me, but they were dropped off somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” she said between crackers. “There were no windows. I would guess they got out about an hour before me, but I can’t be sure, and I don’t know which direction we came from.”

Another reminder of just how good Tom had it. He had maps. He had information. He knew the name of the mountain range behind them, he knew what time it was and what day it was. He had _tumen_ and food and water. And no fresh bruises on his forearm.

They had had a lot to catch up on. B’Elanna’s job was to assemble the integrative circuitry for the power cells. It was delicate, difficult work due to the highly volatile nature of the extracted element at the heart of the power cell. Beyond that fact she had very little information to share. Apparently communication between workers in Retener was not just discouraged, but brutally punished. The way she said it made him think B’Elanna had learned this the hard way.

Tom had much more information to share. He told B’Elanna about his job, flying from por to port picking up and dropping off cargo. He explained the Kordaien and their role in delivering new slaves to the Nauchans. He explained Tilnauch-Alpha, and he tried to explain the little bits of Nauchan culture that he had picked up during his time flying around the planet.

Tom showed her the manifest on his PADD. He had been so proud of this project, but showing it to her now he saw the absurdity of it. He should have been doing so much more. She seemed sobered by the names and the blank spaces, their friends and colleagues, gone. She had finished the crackers and shook her head when Tom asked if she wanted more.

“Okay, so where’s _Voyager_? Do you know?” B’Elanna asked.

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I haven’t had an easy time getting information. The other workers—”

“Workers,” she hissed, her eyes lighting up. “Why do you keep using that word? We’re _slaves_ , Tom. Not workers.”

“The other slaves,” he corrected himself, “don’t seem to want to volunteer information. My employer—”

“Employer,” she spat the word at him. “As if you’re being paid for your piloting services. As if you signed up for this.” Tom tried to hide the sour look on his face, his frustration. He had certainly seen this side of her before on _Voyager_ : her inability to tolerate bullshit. But now her interjections only served to remind him just how easy he had it here on Tilnauch.  

They sat in awkward silence for a few beats, just looking at each other. She looked away first. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean... It’s just… you haven’t been here.” His eyes were drawn to her arm, where he knew the bruises hid under the fabric of her coat.

She probably had every right to be angry about his words. She hadn’t volunteered much about her life at Retener, but he had seen and heard enough to make a pretty reasonable guess, and to understand why she was being so reticent.

“I know,” he said, fighting the urge to reach out and put his hand on hers. “I’m sorry you’re here. I’m sorry I don’t have a plan yet. I’ve been trying to work one out.”

“Me too. I’ve been trying to figure out how to disable these armbands.”

“I assume yours has tracking too?” he asked.

“It’s more like a shock collar, but yeah.” Her eyes lit up as soon as she said it. “Tom, do you have a toolkit?”

“A toolkit? Um, just a small one for minor repairs.”

“Can I see it?”

“Yeah.” Tom got up and headed to the cockpit, pulling the small toolkit out from under his seat. She took the toolkit from his hands, eagerly unfastening the locks. He started to take his seat opposite her again, but she indicated that he should slide in next to her.

“I can’t work on my own; I’ve tried,” she explained. ”Sit down.” He slid in next to her, and pulled up his sleeve to reveal his own armband. She pulled out a small caliper, and set to work on his armband, holding his upper arm in place with her left hand. Her fingertips were warm against his skin, and he allowed himself the satisfaction of imagining that she noticed and appreciated the increased muscle mass in his bicep.

What were the rules of flirtation in a situation like this anyway? He felt odd even considering the question. He needed to focus on escape, focus on survival.

B’Elanna was certainly very focused. He watched her tuck her hair back behind her ear. There was a coarseness in her hair now that he hadn’t noticed before on _Voyager_. But her eyes were the same, constantly moving, processing. Her energy was the same, that magnetic dynamism that seemed to pull everyone in the room toward her. Or maybe that was just him.

Tom looked away and closed his eyes, listening to B’Elanna sigh to herself and paw through the toolkit again, her left hand still keeping his bicep still. Ironic, the day of their capture and this secret meeting in captivity had brought about more physical contact between them than the entire previous two years on _Voyager_.

“I can’t get in,” she said, finally letting go of his arm. He could still feel the tingling warmth from where her fingertips had been. “I still don’t know how these things were manufactured, but the cover seems to be hermetic. I could maybe get in through the port here if I had an isolinear spanner. Or maybe a resonator would do it.”

“Sorry, that’s the only toolkit I have,” he said. “I’m just the pilot. They don’t let me mess with the tech.”

“Well at least that’s one thing your _employer_ got right.” B’Elanna leaned away from him, putting her head in her hands on the table and exhaling with frustration.

“What if I could get you a hyperspanner? Or a resonator?”

“An isolinear spanner,” she corrected, but she brightened as she said it. “Could you? Do you have access to tools?”

“I don’t, but I can probably figure something out.” Perhaps a mechanic at one of the ports would leave his toolkit open and Tom would be in a position to slip something into his pocket? He could make it happen. “Make me a list of what you need.” He slid his PADD with the manifest on it toward her, and she grabbed it eagerly. He could see her mind already working, generating a list faster than her fingers could type. She paused for a second.

“Does this mean you’re coming back here?” She looked at him with hesitation, black fear in her eyes. Tom swallowed.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I thought Tordy, um, the manager, said this was new business for the company so… I guess I don’t really know.” The air around them seemed suddenly heavy with apprehension. It was sinking in now: if they couldn’t disable the armbands tonight B’Elanna would have to stay, and he would have to go. And he may or may not be coming back. “I think I’ll be back,” he said again. “I’ll try to find out as soon as I can.” He paused. But what good would that do? He had no way to communicate with her after he left here.

Tom felt very inadequate, wondering if there was something else he could do, wondering if someone else from _Voyager_ would have been in a better position to help B’Elanna. He waited, chewing on his fears, while B’Elanna sat and typed away on the list. The only sound was the rhythmic wheezing of the _74656_ ’s vintage ventilation system. B’Elanna finally finished and pushed the PADD back to him. He scanned the contents, nodding to himself. He had no idea how he was going to find or acquire any of these twenty-five items, but B’Elanna didn’t have to know that.

It was clear that their night together was coming to a close, and that they needed to get at least a few hours of sleep if they were going to be functional when day broke. They both hesitated, unwilling to let their time together end.

“I need to get back,” B’Elanna finally said. “I think it’s daylight soon.”

“Wait, take this,” Tom said, and he went to retrieve a second orange _tumen_ from his stash in the drawer, pressing it into her hand as she paused above the portal. It was the only thing he could do for her. She looked surprised, but didn’t argue, and slipped the _tumen_ into a large coat pocket.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice cracking, just barely. He heard it.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. You keep your head down, stay safe. And I’ll figure out a way to get back here. Soon.”

“Yeah, sure.” She didn’t look entirely convinced. “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, stay safe,” he said.

“See you soon,” she responded, wrapping her coat tighter around her, preparing to descend back into the darkness of the cargo hold, and Retener Corporation. She paused and studied him for a few seconds, her eyes moving back and forth across his face.

“I like the beard,” she said. They smiled at each other for a beat, and then she disappeared into the darkness below. Tom closed and locked the hatch behind her, finally noticing just how fast his heart was pounding in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Tom still felt exhausted and apprehensive when he woke up at Retener the next morning. He was distracted as he walked around the _74656_ in the very dim morning light, completing his visual checks of his ship’s external systems. His eyes kept moving to the boundary of the landing pad, wondering if B’Elanna would appear this morning and give him a subtle nod goodbye.

He was also distracted by his pain, which was already increasing steadily with the morning light. He was short two _tumen_ for the next day and a half, and had decided to just forgo his morning dose and get the pain over with. He had already forgotten how all-consuming the pain was, how much more difficult it was to think clearly. He could feel himself starting to hunch over, matching the rest of the workers in their grimaces and wincing.

No, not matching. He was well-fed, clean, safe. His pain was minimal, and had only begun in the last few hours. Theirs was ongoing. He had given B’Elanna those extra _tumen_ , but that wouldn’t do much for her in the long term.

As he finished his visual inspection, he cast his eyes around the area one final time, seeking a sign that B’Elanna was here. It took a great deal of self-control to close the gangway, hoist himself up into the living space, and begin the pre-flight.

He hated leaving.

He couldn’t stay.

The journey to Avil was excruciating. Tom finally gave himself a _tumen_ at the halfway point, but his pain level was already high enough that the _tumen_ only brought his suffering down a notch. He wondered how long it would take to get back to pain level zero, and panicked briefly at the thought that it never would.

What a wimp he was.

He approached Avil near the end of the day, taking the _74656_ in a long circle around Torshun airspace to avoid the flightpath of the Nauchan passenger shuttles. The port at Avil was massive, bustling with the comings and goings of hundreds of cargo vessels. Rather than one expansive landing area it was broken into several smaller landing areas, separated by long rows of beige storage buildings. The _74656_ was assigned a corner stall in the third landing area, and Tom gently set her down.

A massive variety of goods passed through this port, and business here was efficient. As soon as his boots hit the ground Tom was greeted by a Nauchan representative, and a team of beige-clad workers began unloading the power cells from Retener. The workers here were well-fed at least, if still stiff with discomfort. They were in better shape than the group at Retener, that was for sure. Despite his own gnawing pain, Tom jumped in to help with the unloading process. The task went quickly, and after signing the forms the Nauchan boss departed with his crew of workers. On to the next assignment.

Tom had a little extra time on his hands before night fell. His pain level was high, but he was forcing himself to hold off on his last _tumen_ until right before bed. Time for a brisk walk around the landing area then: A chance to test the limits of his armband tracking, search the workers for a familiar human face, and perhaps to slip a tool or two into his pocket. He wouldn’t go far, but this was a big port, and a good opportunity.

He slowly made his way around the nearby stalls, appraising the other ships as he walked by. One of them was spaceworthy, and unoccupied. He stood in front of it for a few seconds, considering. He could walk right in, maybe have her in orbit within minutes. Go for help and come back for the rest of the crew. It would be a heroic rescue, coming in with a cadre of alien allies, photon torpedoes blazing. But how long could he go without more _tumen_? How far would he have to go for help? How long before the Kordaien captured him again on his way through their space? How would he even find the rest of the crew?

Tom pushed his feet into motion again. That fantasy was a dead end, at least until B’Elanna figured out how to deactivate the armbands.

He slowed his pace as he approached a sleek vessel being worked on by a mechanic, but the mechanic had wisely placed his extensive toolkit at his feet, out of Tom’s easy reach. Tom was thinking through his options when he was almost knocked to the ground by a large worker wearing the beige uniform of Avil.

“Sorry, excuse me,” Tom said automatically.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with that non-regulation beard, Paris,” came Chakotay’s low voice. Tom suddenly recognized his former Maquis commander. Chakotay’s hair was longer, nearly obscuring his tattoo, but his cheeks were still smooth. Even in the loose beige jumpsuit it was clear the commander’s added muscle mass outpaced Tom’s.

“Commander,” he responded, automatically clicking back into Starfleet protocols.

“Pretend we’re apologizing,” Chakotay murmured, putting his hands up in mock atonement. “Did you come in on a ship?”

“Yes,” Tom said, low. “The _74656_ , about four stalls back that way.” He also put his hands up in mock apology, and nodded back toward his ship.

“When do you leave?” Chakotay asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll meet you at your ship tonight, right before the evening meal.” Chakotay nodded at Tom and then quickly walked away, disappearing into another row of cargo vessels.

Tom blinked away his surprise for a few moments, watching the spot where Chakotay had disappeared. B’Elanna yesterday and Chakotay today. Maybe his luck was finally changing.

Tom abandoned his quest for B’Elanna’s tools; no reason to risk drawing attention to himself now. He returned to the _74656_ to eat an early dinner, and to inject himself with his last _tumen_. The pain was manageable but still clouding his awareness.

He left the gangway of the _74656_ open again, and sat out on the end of it, pretending to work on his PADD. The other pilot workers were silently returning to their own ships, settling in for the evening. Tom could feel his chest tightening as he waited for Chakotay to appear. He had no idea what to expect.

The sky was dusky grey when Chakotay walked past Tom, clearing his throat and nodding toward a partially hidden walkway behind the _74656_. Tom coughed in response, waited a few beats, and then stood up and went around the back of his ship.

“It’s good to see you, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said, as Tom slipped into the shadowed corner with him. A genuine statement, no doubt, although lacking in warmth.

“You too, Commander,” Tom echoed.

Chakotay only had a few minutes to spare before dinner, and got right down to business questioning Tom about his job, his usual location, and if he had had any interaction with any of the rest of the _Voyager_ crew.

“I’ve only seen B’Elanna,” Tom said. “And that was just yesterday.”

“You know where B’Elanna is?” Chakotay raised his eyebrows and uncrossed his arms.

“Yeah, at Retener,” Tom grimaced as he said the name. “I just came from there.”

“Are you going back there? Can you get a message to her? Tell her we need a way to get these armbands deactivated.”

“I’m not sure when I’m going back, but we’re already working on that,” Tom said, somewhat defensively. Of course they were already working on that; did Chakotay think they were just sitting around doing nothing? Although Tom had been doing nothing up until yesterday. But Chakotay didn’t need to know that. “B’Elanna gave me a list of tools she could use to break into the armband. I’m trying to get my hands on them before I head back to her. Hopefully the next time I see her I can break her out of there.”

“Good plan, Lieutenant,” Chakotay nodded his approval. “Listen, we’re going to need more than the armbands removed if we’re going to get out of here. Gallagher and I have been working on a plan, trying to build up the support of the other workers.”

Chakotay then launched into his own story. He had come to Avil with Gallagher, Mendez, and Chell. Ashmore and Ayala were working nearby at the commercial shuttleport in Torshun. It had taken a great deal of persistence but they were gaining traction organizing a resistance movement. Now they needed resources and currently they had none.

They needed a way to break the armbands. They needed weapons. And they needed a way to communicate across cities if they were going to build up a big enough movement to take down the slave system and get them all out of there.

“Even if it takes some time to figure out the armbands,” he was saying, “at least we can start building up a supply of weapons. Handhelds and explosives. And tell B’Elanna we need a communication device too. Something mid-range, something simple to build, preferably with parts a worker could easily acquire. Tell her something like what we were using on Mithras II.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Tom was annoyed, but not quite sure why.

The triple buzz sounded through the air, signaling the evening meal for the workers of Avil.

“I’ve got to go,” Chakotay said. “When will you be back?”

“I’m not really sure.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for your ship then,” Chakotay said, nodding. “The _74656_ , huh? Nice touch, Lieutenant. The captain would be pleased.” And with that, Chakotay slipped out from the shadows and disappeared around the corner.

Tom stood there for a few moments, trying to process what had just happened. Chakotay had a plan. Things were moving. This was good. So where was this uneasy feeling coming from?

“You can take the commander out of the Maquis, but you can’t take the Maquis out of the commander,” Tom muttered to himself. He returned to the _74656_ , closing up the gangway and climbing the ladder into his living quarters. The small space felt particularly empty tonight. He added notes about Chakotay, Mendez, Chell, Ayala, Ashmore and Gallagher to his manifest, then he sat and stared at this PADD, scrolling back and forth along the names. He had eleven full rows on his manifest now: ten alive, one dead. He had made contact with two of them personally. A plan was being formed, a resistance movement. After a month of being alone and entirely unproductive things were finally moving in the right direction. So why did he feel so uneasy?

He slept poorly again that night: his agitated mind and pain-wracked body conspired against his need for rest. In the morning he departed Avil just as the daylight was starting to creep across the sky. He landed at Neefa Swain’s that afternoon, and very carefully made his way across the dusty compound. Tom’s pain was excruciating now, and he struggled to hide it as he walked into Tordy’s office.

“You have completed this run very efficiently,” Tordy commented as Tom entered the administrative building. Off to the side, the door to Neefa Swain’s office was open, empty.

“The workers at Avil are very efficient,” Tom said, passing his PADDs with the forms over to Tordy, who placed them in a pile. Tordy was looking closely at Tom, and Tom wondered if his movements were too stiff. He tried to force his body to relax, but the heightened agony of the armband was making it difficult.

“And how did you find Retener?” Tordy asked, his tone filled with unidentifiable subtext. Tom hesitated at that. So far Tordy had made every effort to ensure that Tom understood they were not friends. Tordy was Neefa Swain’s right hand man, he was not Tom’s ally. But Tordy also wore the armband of slavery, and Tom suspected that there was a fellowship to be uncovered here. He decided to offer up his honest assessment.

“Retener was… difficult.”

“The Retener guards are known for their cruelty.” Tordy nodded. “It is a terrible fate for a worker, to be sent to Retener.” The very faintest note of sadness had crept into Tordy’s voice. Tom suppressed any outward response, but felt his heart beating faster. Cruelty. A terrible fate. But before he could ask any follow-up questions Tordy snapped back into his role as manager, giving Tom a serious stare. “You should use your regular run to Retener as a reminder of how lucky you are to be here with Neefa Swain.”

“So when am I going back?” Tom was trying to sound casual.

“The Retener run is scheduled approximately every fourteen days, depending on the needs of our clients at Avil. But tomorrow you will be headed to Enta...” Tordy handed Tom a new PADD and a satchel full of _tumen_ and spent a few moments describing Tom’s next route, noting, of course, just how important this business was for Neefa Swain. Tom thanked Tordy and took his leave so he could begin restocking for his next trip.

He paused in the sunlight just outside of Tordy’s office in order to administer a _tumen_ from the satchel, one thought saturating his brain as the fog of his pain began to recede: he had to get B’Elanna out of Retener.


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks later Tom was flying back to Retener, as scheduled. He was just a few minutes out from landing now, and he was nervous as hell.

He had had a productive time away, managing to acquire several of the tools from B’Elanna’s wish list. It was gratifying to feel like he was doing _something_ at least. His stash of stolen tools now contained several new types of hyperspanners, two things he thought must be resonators of some kind, and several simple wrench-type things. He could already picture B’Elanna’s eye roll when she saw that half the things he had brought were completely useless for her purposes. But he was fairly certain most of his finds would be useful, and was looking forward to seeing the triumphant smile on her face when she broke the armband tonight and they blew out of Retener together tomorrow morning.

At least, he hoped he would get to see that triumphant smile.

He had gotten a late start that morning, and by the time he brought the _74656_ down on the landing pad at Retener it was already evening. The Nauchan who met him at the landing pad was annoyed, informing him acidly that his cargo could not be loaded until tomorrow morning.

It was cold in Retener, and the air was still thick with blood. Tom wished again for a jacket, and wondered how Tordy would react to such a request. He sat out on the open gangway as evening fell, pretending to be immersed in something on his PADD.

The triple buzz sounded. It had grown significantly colder while Tom was sitting outside, and he was grateful to finally see the line of workers coming out of the factories. It occurred to him for the first time that he might not see B’Elanna walking in this line tonight. What if she had been assigned somewhere else and no longer walked past the landing pad at the end of the work day? What would he do then? Could he somehow follow the line of workers to the galley, catch her there? He still wasn’t sure how far his armband tracking would let him go, or how far the Nauchan guards would, for that matter.

He didn’t spend much time worrying, because suddenly she was there, in the line, wearing the big grey coat he remembered from last time. Her face was unreadable from this distance, but she nodded at him silently.

This time Tom left the gangway open, but pulled himself up into his living quarters, leaving the portal unlocked behind him. He felt a little guilty about not waiting outside for her, but it was cold, and she knew where to go. B’Elanna would approve; she was nothing if not pragmatic.

He sat at the table. He had already laid out a bowl of some sort of Nauchan cookies, a glass of water, a _tumen_ , and the various tools he had managed to purloin while he had been away. Well, at least his mother would be proud he hadn’t lost any of his hosting skills during his captivity.

He heard her boots against the ladder right before he saw her dark hair coming up through the portal.

“It’s about time,” she exhaled, pulling herself up the last few rungs with some difficulty. Tom was confused for a moment before he remembered: she hadn’t known when or even if he was coming back. He had been counting down the days for the past two weeks but she had been wading in the unknown.

She pulled herself to a stand as she entered his living quarters, but she was breathing hard and her posture was twisted with pain. Before Tom could get to her she slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor, her left hand grasping her right arm.

Tom grabbed the _tumen_ on the table, meeting her on the floor in two long strides. Without asking this time he took her arm in his hand, pushing aside her hand and the fabric of her coat and jumpsuit to reveal her armband. He pressed the _tumen_ against it. She inhaled and exhaled quickly, then shivered and coughed.

“It’s worse this time, isn’t it?” he asked, still holding her arm in his hand.

She nodded. He got up and pulled a second _tumen_ from his supply, joining her on the floor again. He pressed it against her armband and she closed her eyes, breathing more slowly now. They stayed there on the floor together in silence for a few moments. Finally, B’Elanna opened her eyes, and shakily began to stand. Tom tried to help her up, but she pulled away from his touch, using the wall instead to steady herself.

“You okay?” he asked, expecting her to collapse to the floor again at any moment. He would give her another _tumen_ if he had to. He would give her all the _tumen_ if he had to. She took a deep breath, and pressed the fabric of her coat against one of her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” she said.

She made her way to the table, somewhat unsteadily, but Tom knew better than to try to help her. He slid in across from her, watching her face as she devoured a cookie and started pawing through the new tools he had brought. He could see a new bruise on her neck, and several bloodied scrapes on one side of her face that he hadn’t noticed before. He clenched his jaw. He was used to seeing his fellow workers in pain from the armband, but he wasn’t used to seeing evidence of physical abuse like this. What kind of sociopaths were running this place?

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

“The mechanics at some of the ports don’t keep their toolkits as close as they should,” he said. “And speaking of ports, I have a message for you.”

“For me?”

“From Chakotay.”

“Chakotay!” Her eyes widened.

Tom enjoyed watching her surprise blossom into elation as he told her the details of his meeting with Chakotay. Her face turned serious as he relayed Chakotay’s requests: a way to remove the armbands, weapons, a communication device.

“I had a lot more to work with on Mithras II.” B’Elanna shook her head in amusement, and then sighed. “Chakotay thinks too highly of my abilities.”

“I don’t think so,” Tom said. He wanted desperately to reach across the table and touch her. She didn’t seem to notice, her eyes were already focused in the distance, her brain already drawing up the first drafts of a solution.

“Where’s the rest of the toolkit?” B’Elanna suddenly asked. “I want to look at your armband again. I had some ideas about how to break it open.” He retrieved the toolkit from the cockpit, and joined her again on the bench on her side of the table. She pushed up his dark orange sleeve, held his upper arm in place with one hand, and gently ran her fingers around the edge of his armband. The sensation of her touch was delicious. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster, and for a few seconds he allowed his brain to indulge in the fantasy of her slowly pulling his jumpsuit off, running her fingers along the rest of his body down to…

He frowned at himself, his thoughts. Here they were in this desperate situation, B’Elanna bruised and battered, their crewmates scattered and possibly dead, and he was letting his reaction to her touch get entirely out of hand.

Okay, time to start listing out early 20th century automobiles in alphabetical order from his favorite reference book on the topic. That always did the trick. Buick LeSabre. Cadillac DeVille. Cadillac Eldorado.

“How was Chakotay anyway?” B’Elanna asked, not looking up from her work. Oh good. Talking about Chakotay would help him cool his engines.

“He’s good, I think,” Tom said. “Longer hair. Basically the same but with a beige jumpsuit instead of a Starfleet uniform, and a little more muscle on top.”

“He’s not the only one,” B’Elanna murmured to herself, the briefest hint of a smile on her lips.

“I thought you’d never notice,” Tom quipped, grinning.

She had picked up the microlinear resonator now, and turned his arm around, trying to access the other side of the armband. In the process she managed to press his hand against her belly. She seemed not to notice, or at least not to care, but he could feel the steady in and out of her breathing against his hand.

She smelled like a factory floor, oily and metallic. But her own scent was still in there too, and there was kind of a lot of physical contact going on here and it had been a really long time and he was only on the Chevrolet Corvette now but his mind was reeling with desire. Get it together, Paris.

Pain suddenly shot through his arm so quickly and so violently that he cried out, reflexively pulling away from B’Elanna and dropping to the floor. His entire body was being pierced by a giant needle, his arms and legs had come off his body. He could not speak, could not breathe, his entire body had seized up. He hoped that death would come quickly. Please let it come quickly. Everything was dark and vibrating.

Slowly he became aware of the floor, of his breathing, of B’Elanna’s arm around him, of her worried shouting. He opened his eyes. B’Elanna was on the floor next to him, her face just a few centimeters away from his. She looked terrified.

Tom swallowed, and took a deep breath. The pain was receding so quickly now that it was making him dizzy. “I’m okay,” he finally said. “It’s going away now.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, far more contrite than was strictly necessary. “I should have known it would have a mechanism against tampering, but I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry.”

He was breathing normally again. He might make it through without vomiting. “I’m okay, B’Elanna. It’s okay,” he said. She seemed to realize then that her arm was still around him, and she pulled away, settling in beside him on the floor.

“Is it… do you know why it did that?” he said, pushing himself up to sit next to her. He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder as the vertigo hit him. She grabbed his upper arm, steadying him.

“It must be some sort of failsafe device that activates if there’s any sort of interruption on the hermetic seal,” she said.

“Sounds evil.”

“These things are fucking diabolical.” She was grim. “I’m starting to think even the Nauchans don’t have a way of performing maintenance on them, or deactivating them after they’ve been installed.”

“But then how do the _tumen_ work?” Tom asked.

“I can’t figure that out. And how is the armband even plugged into our nerves and pain receptors? I wish I had a medical tricorder. Or any sort of tricorder. Even better, the Doctor.” She sighed. He started to pull himself up onto the bench, and B’Elanna helping to steady him. His body was still ringing with the last notes of pain. She stood at the table, sorting through the tools, pushing them aside one by one. Tom noticed for the first time that her hands were shaking.

Her fingers had paused on one of the resonators, and she was staring at it. Tom rubbed his armband, waiting silently for whatever brilliant idea was about to come spilling out of her.

Instead, with one motion she angrily pushed all the tools off the table, so hard that the lighter ones flew across the small space, bouncing off the opposite wall. Everything hit the floor with a loud clatter. Tom winced.

“I thought this would fucking work,” she spat.

“It will.”

“I can’t work on your armband if I can’t figure out how to get past the tamperproofing.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. She was pacing now, carefully stepping over the tools as she did. He thought he heard some muttered invectives, but couldn’t be sure. He watched her as she prowled back and forth. It was strangely good, comforting even, to see her like this again. He couldn’t help himself, and he smiled at that thought, just as she looked up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you smiling about?” she demanded.

“It’s just…” he couldn’t decide if honesty was the best policy in this instance or not. “It’s just nice to see you like this again.” She pulled her head back, looking first skeptical and then angry as his words sunk in. He sensed a barrier going up between them again; he made a mental note to skip the honestly next time. She continued her pacing, but whirled around to face him again after only a few seconds.

“Is there any way to get an extra armband?” she demanded. “One that isn’t attached to a person? Or maybe a medical tricorder?”

“Not that I know of,” Tom said slowly. “But I haven’t exactly looked into this before.” He worked through it in his head. They must have a supply of shiny new armbands up on Tilnauch-Alpha, for all the new workers. No way to get to those. The only planetside option was fairly gruesome. He had never seen a medical tricorder on Tilnauch either, but surely he could find one.

“Maybe I can find a dermal regenerator while I’m at it,” he said, mostly to himself, and then immediately regretted it as he saw her hand shoot up to the scrapes on her face. “Sorry,” he apologized. She looked away. “I saw the bruising last time too,” he said gently. “What happened?”

“You mean to my face?” she asked.

“I mean all of it,” he said. She looked away.

“They threw me into some of the machinery a few days ago. And this,” she indicated the scrapes on her face, “is from the gravel outside the dormitory.”

“Why?” Tom asked. He was having trouble picturing B’Elanna being thrown around like that. She shook her head.

“It’s just how it is. Their way of keeping us weak and scared, I guess.” She was staring at him but not seeing him. Her eyes were full of hate. “And I’m lucky. Some of them get it a lot worse than me.” There was that word again: lucky.

“I’m sorry you’re alone here,” Tom said.

“I can handle being alone,” she scoffed.

“I think being alone here has been the hardest part for me,” he offered. “When Chakotay told me that he had Gallagher and Mendez with him I was envious.” He paused. He knew how ridiculous this must sound to B’Elanna who was getting tossed into machinery. But it was true, and it was what he had to offer her at this moment. She just stared at him, saying nothing. Tom filled with embarrassment. He was trying to build a bridge between them and she was dismissing his efforts.

“Anyway, at least I can handle it, being here,” she said. “My Klingon side is coming in handy for once.” Tom wondered silently just how well she was actually handling it.

She pulled her coat more closely around her body and then bent down and started picking up the tools that were scattered across the floor.

“If we can’t break the armbands tonight, I want to start thinking about a communication device for Chakotay. Can I look at the comm system in this thing?” she asked.

“Of course,” Tom said, and he knelt down to help her pick up the tools. They worked together in silence gathering tools for a few moments while Tom came to the grim realization that he would be leaving her behind again tomorrow morning.


	9. Chapter 9

“This is it?” Chakotay asked, not even looking at the contents of the PADD Tom had just handed him. Tom considered punching Chakotay in the throat. He was tired, he was in pain, and he wasn’t in the mood. Tom and B’Elanna had been up far too late the previous night. She had been dismantling, studying, and then reassembling pieces of his comm system, and he had typed out the notes she reeled off to him. She had left not long before the morning light; Tom might as well have just not slept at all, and his pain level today was excruciating.

He had slipped an extra _tumen_ into her pocket as she departed.

“Stay safe,” he had said to her.

“See you soon,” she had responded before disappearing down the portal hatch. Her success with the comm system had buoyed both of their moods, and they had parted on a hopeful note.

Now he had a single _tumen_ to last until he returned to Neefa Swain’s in a day and a half, and he was saving it for after his meeting with Chakotay. That had clearly been a miscalculation. Next time he would take the _tumen_ before their rendezvous.

“Well we didn’t exactly have a deflector array available,” Tom said to Chakotay. He knew he was being flippant. He didn’t care.

“I was picturing something portable.” Chakotay raised his eyebrows at Tom as he said it.

Tom clenched and unclenched one fist, as he explained to Chakotay the simplicity of the B’Elanna’s hack: a very simple retuning of the inhibitor and a series of small adjustments in the circuitry on any typical Nauchan comm system would give them access to a new channel, difficult to detect if you didn’t know what you were looking for. It was brilliant in its simplicity, really.

“We’ll make do,” Chakotay said. “How is the work on the armbands coming?”

Tom sighed and then relayed the information about the tamperproofing device they had discovered yesterday. He told Chakotay about B’Elanna’s request for another armband to experiment with, and a medical tricorder too.

“I’ll look into it,” Chakotay said. “But in that case tell B’Elanna that weapons are the next priority, at least until we’re in a position to break the armbands.”

“About the armbands,” Tom said. “What if I can find a way to make it back up to Tilnauch-Alpha? There must be a supply of new armbands up there. I’m supposed to spend the night in Avil tonight, but maybe I could get on one of those passenger shuttles somehow, head up to the space station and then back down in the same evening.”

“And what about your own armband tracking?” Chakotay narrowed his eyes at Tom. “You’ll die before you even make it to the space station.”

Tom felt dumb. He hadn’t really thought it through. He was just desperate to get an extra armband for B’Elanna.

“And I can’t have you drawing attention to yourself, Tom,” Chakotay was admonishing him now. “You’re more valuable in your current position.”

“Sure, yeah, you’re right,” Tom said. He was annoyed at Chakotay’s tone, annoyed at being scolded, but also annoyed at himself for suggesting such a dumb idea. He felt his mood darkening even further.

The triple buzz sounded over them, and the men parted ways with cautious nods.

Tom sighed and walked slowly back to the _74656_. A few pilots were coming and going from their ships, and a small gang of workers was hurrying together toward their evening meal. Nobody made eye contact with him, or acknowledged his presence beyond avoiding his physical space. Tom considered, not for the first time, just how insidious it was, the lack of communication, the lack of response. It really added to the overall feeling of powerlessness.

Tom walked up the gangway into the empty belly of the _74656_. God this pain was awful. He couldn’t seem to unclench his jaw, and couldn’t quite get his right arm to straighten out all the way. He wished he was strong enough to take it and pretend it didn’t matter. Suck it up and persevere like B’Elanna did. Instead, he was going to give himself a _tumen_ as soon as he got up into his living quarters and then pass out in his bunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so short! I'm going to try to get the next chapter up tomorrow just so I don't feel like I'm cheating my readers.


	10. Chapter 10

It was twelve days later and Tom was due to leave for Retener tomorrow. He and Tordy were sitting at Tordy’s desk, discussing the best timing for one of his other regular routes. The conversation had gone well, in large part because Tom was playing the part of the loyal sycophant: offering flattery in just the right moments, treating Tordy like a beloved mentor. Tom had developed this strategy because he needed to ask Tordy for a favor today, but he had to admit he was surprised it was working so well. Tordy was fluffing up with pride and Tom was hopeful the Talaxian would be feeling even more generous when Tom made his big ask.

Tom heard the door behind him swing open, and Tordy jumped to attention as Neefa Swain walked in. Tom jumped to a stand too, a little slower than Tordy, but at least he was still playing the part of loyal worker.

“You fool,” Neefa Swain spat at Tordy. “You foolish, stupid worker.” Tordy looked down, almost bowing, and Tom took a step back, suddenly on high alert. The stench of _fluordin_ that normally engulfed Neefa Swain was weak and stale, his boss’s hands empty. “I should have you put down! I should do it myself right now! Where is my _fluordin_?!”

“Neefa Swain, I am very, very sorry,” Tordy said, still bowing. “The latest shipment… it is here in your office. I miscalculated. It will not happen again.”

“The office! You idiot!” Neefa Swain screamed, picking up a PADD from the table and throwing it at Tordy. It hit Tordy on the shoulder, hard, and Tordy winced but did not look up. “You are the stupidest worker I’ve ever had! Put in a requisition to Intake for a new assistant. And when we get the new worker I’ll kill you myself.”

“Yes, of course, Neefa Swain.” Tordy bowed even lower as he said it. Tom had taken one more tiny step back, trying not to draw attention to himself. Neefa Swain raged on his way to his office. He punched the wall and then slammed the door behind him.

Tom looked at Tordy as the door closed. They both started breathing again.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Tom quipped. Tordy sat back down and rubbed his shoulder, saying nothing. Tom had seen Neefa Swain in a foul mood previously when his _fluordin_ had run low and he had been forced to ration them, but never quite so excessively angry. But he suspected that Tordy had seen this many times.

Tom sat down again and the two workers continued their conversation. The smell of a freshly activated _fluordin_ emanated from Neefa Swain’s office. Tordy seemed off-balance now, and nervous; Tom wished that this episode with Neefa Swain hadn’t happened. He really needed to ask Tordy for this favor today, before he left for Retener tomorrow, and Tordy did not seem to be in a generous mood now.

“Tordy, can I have a dermal regenerator?” Tom asked. He was trying to hit just the right note of charm, confidence, and ease.

“You have a first aid kit on your vessel,” Tordy said. “That is sufficient.”

“I had a close call at Retener last time,” Tom said, working to make his rehearsed tale sound unrehearsed. “Almost ripped a piece of skin off my hand. The first aid stuff in the medkit wouldn’t have been enough, and it would have really impacted my piloting, and definitely my ability to help with the cargo. It just occurred to me I should have a dermal regenerator on board, if I’m going to be so far out for days on end.”

“The ports have medics. They will be called if you are seriously injured.” Tordy looked back to his computer console. Conversation over.

“Even at Retener?” Tom asked. Make it sound like a genuine question. Make it sound like he wasn’t heavily invested in this. Tordy stopped poking at his console for a second, and exhaled.

“Retener Corporation is known for cruelty toward to their own workers, but they would not risk a business relationship by letting another corporation’s worker suffer. I am sure you would receive the treatment you need. Even at Retener.”

“I’ll go start resupply then,” Tom muttered. He had been expecting an easy victory—Tordy had been in such a good mood just a few minutes ago—but now he would walk away empty-handed.

The comm attached to Tordy’s console beeped at them, and Tordy startled. Neefa Swain’s voice came booming out, requesting that Tom come to his office.

“Go!” Tordy motioned nervously for Tom to obey swiftly. Tom stood and made his way, haltingly, to the door of Neefa Swain’s office. Tom knew Neefa Swain was deep into his first _fluordin_ already, but he still wasn’t quite sure which Neefa Swain would be on the other side of that door: the jolly, generous one or the angry, spiteful one.

Tom hadn’t actually been in Neefa Swain’s office before. It was small, the massive desk was far too big for the space, and a gigantic reclining sofa of sorts took up at least half the room. Detritus of the used _fluordin_ was piled into a square vessel near the recliner, next to a headset. Some sort of virtual reality headset, maybe? Or just for watching recordings?

Neefa Swain was sucking on a _fluordin_ , his feet up on his massive desk, a crate full of the narcotic devices on his left, and two PADDs teetering near the edge of the desk on his right. “Tom Pilot! Tordy is telling me all good things about you!”

“Yes, sir,” Tom said, automatically.

“The business at Retener is very good business,” Neefa Swain was saying, moving his feet back to the ground with some difficulty. “And you, Tom Pilot, have been a big part of that. A very big part! A pilot we can trust, it is truly ideal. It is a difficult thing to find around here, good help. Some of these workers… they are from such weak and stupid races.” Neefa Swain shook his head as if the fate of the stupid races made him truly sad. “Please, here, take this. A token of gratitude that you are part of Neefa Swain Corporation now.” Neefa Swain picked up two _fluordin_ from the crate on the table and held them out to Tom.

“Um, thank you,” Tom said, carefully taking the small cylinders from Neefa Swain’s hand without touching the giant hedgehog’s claws. Was this supposed to be an apology for Neefa Swain’s earlier behavior? Was he intending that they should smoke these together now, as friends? It would almost be easier if Neefa Swain was consistently angry and violent; at least then Tom would know what to expect.

“Just not while you’re flying, eh, Tom Pilot?” Neefa Swain chuckled and then coughed. Tom hesitated, not sure what to do next, but Neefa Swain took a long drag from his own _fluordin_ and pushed himself back into a reclined position at the desk.

“Thanks,” Tom said again. “I’ve got to go get started on resupply...”

Neefa Swain waved at Tom, dismissing him. Tom took a deep breath, walking out of Neefa Swain’s office and back into Tordy’s realm. He slipped the two _fluordin_ into his pocket, but not before Tordy spotted them and frowned with intense disapproval.


	11. Chapter 11

Tom was back at Retener after two weeks away, and he had rather foolishly hoped B’Elanna would be in better shape this time. She had made it up the ladder and into his living quarters, but had aborted her efforts to stand, and was now on the floor by the portal, arms crossed in front of her stomach, forehead pressed into the bulkhead.

Tom pushed up her coat sleeve to uncover her armband, and administered two _tumen_ in quick succession. She groaned and convulsed, forcefully enough that Tom wondered momentarily if he had done something wrong and she was having a seizure, but then her body stilled. She coughed a few times, and placed her palms on the floor.

“Do you need another one?” He was searching her eyes for signs of lingering pain.

“You don’t have a limitless supply of those, do you?” She looked at him as she said it. 

“No, I don’t.”

“You go without after you leave, don’t you? You’re in pain?”

“Yeah.” Tom wished she hadn’t guessed at that, but knew it was inevitable she would figure it out eventually. She had probably known all along. He studied her profile, the arched contours of her ridges, her worryingly prominent cheekbones.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Yeah, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she growled, and she began to stand unsteadily. Tom stood too, and reached out to steady her, but she pulled away from him. She lurched forward under her own power, barely making it to her perch at the table with a few precarious steps. She settled in, breathing deeply through clenched teeth and just stared at the food he had set out. Vertigo? Nausea?

“Okay, you’re right: I don’t have to share my _tumen_ with you. I want to.” Tom moved to his spot across the table from her.

“How noble of you.” She said it with such condescension, and Tom felt his own indignation blooming. Couldn’t she see how hard this was for him too?

“I can’t just let you suffer, B’Elanna.” He had intended to keep his tone even, but it came out all wrong. His indignation was showing.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.” Her eyes burned through his skull. “I don’t need your pity, Tom.” She said his name like it was some sort of invective.

“Oh, so it’s okay if you’re in so much pain that climbing up three meters of ladder exhausts you and you can’t even stand up at the top. I should just leave you that way, that’s fine. But at least your pride will be intact.” This time he matched her condescension.

She said nothing, but her eyes flashed with anger and hurt and Tom immediately regretted his tone. She stood up quickly, brushed past him, still wobbly, and disappeared into the small lavatory, slamming the thick plastic door behind her.

Tom stood in the small living space, sighed, and rubbed his beard. Well, he had certainly managed to fuck that up.

He decided to give B’Elanna some space, and he went forward to the cockpit, as far as he could get from the lavatory. He set himself in the pilot’s chair, and activated the viewscreen. Checking for Nauchan guards, he told himself, but really he just needed something to look at that wasn’t the interior of a ship. It was a cloudy night, but he could see the glowing arch behind the clouds: Tilnauch-Alpha. Was anyone from _Voyager_ still up there?

After a few minutes he heard the door to the lavatory open behind him, and then the sound of her quiet footsteps approaching the cockpit. She slid into the co-pilot’s seat next to him. They both said nothing for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coughing, as if the words hurt her throat on the way out.

“It’s okay. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No, you’re not,” she said with force. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” Their eyes met.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. This is isn’t an easy situation.”

“Did you give Chakotay the instructions for the communication device?” she asked, her tone careful, professional.

Tom filled her in on his last rendezvous with Chakotay: that Chakotay was looking into finding an extra armband, and a medical tricorder. He passed along Chakotay’s message of thanks for the communication device instructions, although he skipped over the part where Chakotay had seemed disappointed in her design. She nodded, a small spark in her eye. That was something.

“I have something to work on tonight,” she said, digging around in the large pockets of her jumpsuit, beneath her grey overcoat. “I’ve been thinking about weapons a lot while you’ve been gone.” She had to lean toward him to access the appropriate pocket, and she cringed as she did it, a clear indication of pain. Tom frowned to himself, wondering if he should offer her another _tumen_ , wondering if he could offer it without upsetting the feeble truce they had just patched together.

She pulled an unfamiliar tool from her pocket, held it out so Tom could see. He carefully picked it up. It was heavier than he expected, all metal, nearly triangular. It looked like it would fit perfectly in the violet palm of a large Nauchan male.

“Some sort of welding tool?” he guessed.

“Something like that,” she said, taking it back from him. Her fingertips brushed his palm as she lifted the tool. “They use them as part of the final step for processing the ore here. I’m pretty sure it emits an extremely concentrated tachyon burst.”

“And you want to turn this into a weapon?”

“I think it could be a pretty powerful short-range weapon, with the right adjustments, and a little time,” she said. Tom watched B’Elanna hefting the tool in her hand, examining it in the dull light from the viewscreen. Was her theft of this object related to her increased pain level?

“Did you get any new tools while you were gone?” B’Elanna asked.

“Yeah. You wanna set up on the table, then?” Tom asked.

B’Elanna sat in her spot at the table and worked on the welding tool for several hours, picking away at the bowls of food, but not eating much. Tom sat with her, giving her the rundown of his travels over the past fourteen days. Not that there was much to tell. His days were largely all the same: fly somewhere, receive cargo, fly somewhere else, deliver cargo. But Tom had always had a knack for storytelling, and with a few small exaggerations he managed to spin what he thought was a pretty compelling tale of a lonely pilot’s wanderings. Although it was not entirely clear to him if she was paying attention or not.

Tom was paying attention to her, though. He saw B’Elanna grimacing and swallowing back her pain every time she had to reach too far for a tool, or if she accidentally moved too quickly. He caught the effort in her breath. He did not comment, but he was worried about her. He hadn’t noticed any new bruising or wounds, but she clearly wasn’t well. He wanted so badly to fix it for her.

“I think this is ready,” B’Elanna said, finally, snapping a tiny bit of circuitry back into place inside the welding tool. She looked up and around the small space. “Although I suppose I can’t test it in here.”

“Please don’t,” Tom said, hands up in mock surrender. They shared a smile for a moment.

“If you can spare another PADD I can write down how I did this,” B’Elanna said. “Chakotay can test it himself, maybe make some of his own if they have access to welding tools like this.” Tom went and dug out an extra PADD for her. She sat, silently typing away while Tom put all the tools back, the standard ones in the toolkit, the purloined ones in their spot under the cockpit. When he returned to the table B’Elanna handed him the PADD and the weapon.

“I’ll try to get more welders while you’re gone,” she said. “Start building up a supply.”

“Hopefully you won’t be here long enough to build up too much of a supply,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she said, but her tone was flat.

Tom carefully stashed the new weapon and the PADD in the small compartment behind the sonic shower which he had found just a few days ago. He stood in the lavatory by himself for a few minutes before rejoining B’Elanna in the main area. They had a weapon now. Chakotay had a plan, and was building a faction of workers for an uprising. They had ten names on the manifest, and soon they would have a communication network. But what they needed was more time: time to find the rest of the crew, time to make a cache of weapons, time to organize the people.

Did B’Elanna have that much time? How long could she really survive here at Retener? Even with her Klingon genes, even with her inventiveness, her intensity. The armband was slowly killing her, and Retener was slowly killing her, and he knew it and she knew it.

Tom stepped back out into the main living area, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. B’Elanna was standing next to the portal, wrapping her coat around herself.

“It’s late. I need to get back.”

“Stay here tonight,” Tom said, before his brain could stop him. She raised her eyebrows at him. Surprise or disdain or both?

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“I have two bunks!” he protested, motioning to the bunks on the wall behind her. “Unless you want to share.” He shrugged elaborately so she would know that part was mostly a joke. Now she narrowed her eyes—hopefully in amusement—considering. “I promise I don’t snore,” he added. She studied his face.

“I’ll stay,” she said, after a few more moments of hesitation. “To sleep.” Her tone was warning but playful. His heart jumped a little, and he smiled broadly, gratified by her small acknowledgment that there was something other than sleep that they could conceivably be doing together.

Tom slept well that night. He couldn’t see or hear B’Elanna in the top bunk, and the low rattle of the ventilation system drowned out any small noises she might be making as she slept, but he knew she was there. He knew that tonight, at least, she was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many have asked (nobody has asked) about the soundtrack for this thing. I wrote most of it while listening to the The Crown soundtrack and the Dark Knight Rises soundtrack. Excellent music for building tension. 
> 
> Most of the P/T scenes were written to Lady Gaga's Million Reasons.


	12. Chapter 12

The next evening Tom was in Avil again, sitting on the edge of the _74656_ ’s gangway, waiting for Chakotay to show up. The pounding ache in his body was overwhelming his senses. He hadn’t had any _tumen_ yet today, and had nearly thrown up from the pain just an hour ago when he had been helping to unload his cargo. He was jittery and nervous, waiting to hand this weapon off to Chakotay.

Tom had slipped an extra _tumen_ into B’Elanna’s coat pocket before she had departed that morning. That and a small container of biscuit balls. Something she could conceal easily. He had expected her to put up a fight, but she said nothing, just sighed with a sad resignation.

“Stay safe,” he told her.

“See you soon,” she responded. The words seemed to be turning into a ritual of theirs. She looked very small in that giant grey coat, small and tired and scared. The antithesis of the B’Elanna he had known on _Voyager_. He pulled her close in an embrace, damn the consequences. It would be two weeks before he saw her again, and even that wasn’t a sure thing. He hadn’t been open enough about his feelings back on _Voyager_ , and he wasn’t going to hold back now. 

To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head into his chest for a few seconds. He closed his eyes, breathed her in. And then she had pulled away and disappeared down the portal into the cold morning air of Retener.

He hated that she had stolen that tool, that she was putting herself in danger. He could see the scene playing out: B’Elanna slipping another welding tool into her pocket, the violent rage of a Nauchan guard, her face hitting the gravel, the wall, something worse. She would fight back and that would only make it worse.

Tom was so deep into this terrible reverie that he very nearly missed Chakotay; the commander had had to cough several times to get Tom’s attention. Tom followed him into the shadows of the landing area, pressing his hand against the weapon and PADD in his pocket as he did. 

Chakotay was pleased, quickly sliding the PADD into his own pocket and examining the new weapon. The device seemed to fit in the big man’s hands perfectly. Tom explained that B’Elanna hadn’t had a chance to test it, and Chakotay nodded.

“We’ll find a way to test it,” he said. “Tell her it’s good work. But what we could really use are some explosives. I’ve been in contact with a few workers from Torshun and they said—”

“I think we should focus on getting B’Elanna out of Retener first,” Tom interrupted.

“Why? What’s going on? Did she get caught?”

“No,” Tom said. “But she’s not safe where she’s at.”

“Tom, none of us is safe.”

“I know that, Commander,” Tom said. “But it’s especially unsafe at Retener, and she’s putting herself in danger—”

“B’Elanna’s resilient, Tom” Chakotay said, frowning. “I thought you knew that.”

“I’m just saying I think we should focus our efforts on breaking the armband technology,” Tom said, no longer trying to hide his frustration with this conversation. 

“I’m still looking into the medical tricorder, and armband,” Chakotay assured him. “We do have to break the armbands, you’re right. The sooner the better. But until we have the right technology for B’Elanna to make it happen we need to focus on our other priorities: weapons, and communications. We can use our time wisely until we can deactivate the armbands. Do you understand what I’m saying, Lieutenant?” Tom was silent, seething at being talked down to like this. He understood what Chakotay was saying, but Chakotay couldn’t understand that time for B’Elanna was very uncertain right now. 

Chakotay interpreted Tom’s silence as acquiescence, and began sharing the details of the resistance movement's progress over the past two weeks. They had five of the hacked comm devices up and running now, a small but growing network, and were making connections in some nearby cities. Chakotay had located a few more of the _Voyager_ crew. Tabor had been here in Avil the whole time, working in the household of a wealthy Nauchan family. Lang was in Fiit, Anderson and Kyoto and Reynolds in Tannauch. 

Tom was surprised at Chakotay’s quick success. His own attempts at interacting with the other workers on this planet had been so utterly nonproductive.

The low triple buzz sounded over the Avil landing pad.

“Tell B’Elanna to start thinking about explosives,” Chakotay said as he departed. “And good work, both of you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tom said as Chakotay slipped away, but he still felt sour.

Tom waited a few beats and then made his own way back, stiff with pain, to the _74656_. He added the names Chakotay had just given him to his manifest. He had sixteen names now, fifteen of them alive, as far as they knew. That left 138 members of the _Voyager_ crew still unaccounted for. Tom scrolled up and down through the large swath of blank spaces on the list, pausing at B’Elanna’s entry. _B’Elanna Torres - Retener - Alive_. He felt sick to his stomach.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: When I first started writing this I thought it would be about 30,000 words, but the finished product clocks in at about 58,000 words.

Thirteen days later, and Tom was back in Retener, scrambling to help B’Elanna up through the portal and into the living area of the _74656_. She gripped his shoulder tightly and he snaked his arm around her waist in order to pull her up into a sitting position on the floor. Tom administered the first _tumen_ , followed immediately by a second. B’Elanna gritted her teeth, grimaced, and put her head against the wall again. 

“Deep breaths,” he murmured, gently squeezing her hand. He wished he could take on her pain himself, although it occurred to him then that that was exactly what he was doing by sharing his _tumen_.

Tom had recently implemented a new strategy for sharing his _tumen_. He had begun to ration them, skipping one dose every three days or so, building up a small reserve for B’Elanna. It was better for him actually, to spread the pain out over two weeks in that way, and he hoped it would make him less surly every time he had to meet Chakotay in Avil. 

Tom had also increasing his efforts to acquire new tools for B’Elanna. He was averaging one new item in almost every port of call, and growing bolder with each success. He had eleven new tools for B’Elanna now, including a recoupler that he knew would please her. They still needed a dermal regenerator and medical tricorder, and he had been hoping to run into one of those medics, or at least spot a medkit somewhere in his travels. No luck so far. He was beginning to think Tordy had been wrong about the medics.

He had also been tuning into the worker frequency on his hacked comm system whenever he had a chance. It was nearly always quiet, but Tom had caught one exchange about a worker being transferred to Avil, and another time he heard Chakotay’s voice on the line, asking for information about the shuttle schedule in Fiit. But with only a few hacked comm systems in use, there wasn’t much going on. 

Still, Tom’s resolve had been bolstered by this clear evidence of Chakotay’s success, and now Tom had started speaking to workers again in his various ports of call. The reaction was the same this time as it had been the last time he tried it: blank stares or reproachful glares or fearfully turning away from him. But he kept it up, whispering to anyone close enough to hear that he was looking for the _Voyager_ crew. No luck so far, but if Chakotay could figure out a way to organize the workers of Avil and beyond, surely Tom Paris could find someone in some port somewhere who was willing to pass on a name and a location.

Tom was still watching B’Elanna’s reaction to the _tumen_ , and he noticed her breathing had steadied and her eyes were open again, staring at the floor. Foreseeing her protests, he began to withdraw his fingers from her palm, but she surprised him by catching his hand again, gripping it tightly. She was still strong, but her movements were stiff, as if pain still coursed through her body. He squeezed her hand gently. 

“Do you need more?” he asked. He was prepared for the implosion the question might cause. 

“No,” she coughed. 

“Are you sure?” He was skeptical. “I have a reserve now.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask where the reserve came from. 

“No more,” she said it with conviction this time. 

“Okay,” he nodded. They sat there like that for a few more moments until B’Elanna finally began to stand. She made her way to the table without his help, but slowly, painfully, grimacing as she sat. Tom followed her to the table, studying her carefully as she took a deep breath.

“B’Elanna, you’re still in pain. Let me—”

“It’s not the armband.” 

“So what then?” he asked.

“You don’t really want to know.”

“Actually I do,” he crossed his arms in front of his chest as he said it.

She stared at him for a few seconds, her jaw clenched, and then she looked away. She shrugged off her coat, then started working the fasteners in the front of her too-large jumpsuit. She pulled the top of it down, gritting her teeth as she did, holding the fabric in the front steady, covering her breasts. She turned toward the wall, exposing part of her back to Tom.

Her neck and shoulders had the patina of old bruises and healing scrapes that he had seen before. Those were harrowing enough to look at, but the rest of her back was even worse, covered in long, irregular rows of second degree burns. They looked fresh, and incredibly painful. 

“What…?” He started, but could not finish his sentence.

“Plasma whip.”

Tom felt a lump growing in his throat, felt all of the determination and strength he had carefully cultivated over the last two weeks falling away. He turned and walked away from her, aft, toward the bunk beds. When he got there he surprised himself by punching the wall, hard. It hurt, but not enough. Tom closed his eyes and worked his aching hand into a fist again.

“Why?” he finally choked out.

“I guess I looked at the guard the wrong way.” She was carefully pulling her jumpsuit back up over her damaged skin. Those burns must hurt against the rough fabric.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me get the medkit. I have some topical analgesics, I think.” He went to the cockpit to retrieve the small first aid kit he kept there, grateful for the few seconds of solitude to collect himself. 

He returned to the table, slid into the bench next to her, and opened up the small medkit. He pulled the little plastic packets out one by one, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar script on them, wishing he had picked up more of the Nauchan alphabet by now. And desperately wishing he had a dermal regenerator.

“Did you see Chakotay? After you left last time?” she asked as he sorted through the packets. She was facing away from him, the angry channels on her back still exposed.

“Yeah I did,” Tom said. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the emotional thunderstorm from his brain. “He was pleased with the weapon. He wanted you to start thinking about explosives too.”

“He should know me better than that,” she said, a note of humor creeping into her voice. “I’ve already been thinking about explosives.” Tom had to smile at that. 

“You can take the engineer out of the Maquis…” he murmured, and she gave a quick laugh at that. “Okay, I think I found the right thing for this. Hold still.” He was guessing, based on the pictograph on the front. He squeezed the yellow gel out onto his finger, and then very, very gently began applying it to the gouges on her back. She sat upright, as much as she could, breathing deeply while he worked. “Does that feel okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she murmured. He gently brushed his fingers on the burns from her shoulders down to the midpoint of her back. Her torso moved under his fingertips with every breath she took. He could see the outline of her ribs underneath her bare skin, and he had to exhale away his growing rage at what the Nauchans were doing to her. Several of the burns dipped below the fabric of her jumpsuit, and Tom hesitated when he reached that barrier. She must have felt his hesitation, and she sat up a little taller, loosening the jumpsuit fabric enough to give him access even lower, down to the small of her back. Another line of intimacy crossed. 

Strange, just a few months ago the thought of this sort of physical contact with B’Elanna Torres would have excited him. But here they were and all he wanted to do was take her pain away, keep her safe. He was so angry with the Nauchans for doing this to her, and he closed his eyes, swallowed, paused for a few moments to try to tamp down the various dark emotions that were bubbling up inside of him. 

“Tom?”

“Sorry, just… almost done.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t understand how it makes sense for them to keep the workers here in so much pain. How can anyone even do their jobs like this? Just climbing the ladder up here exhausts you.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” She shook her head. “We’re all making mistakes all the time, or not moving fast enough.”

“So what, they keep their worker’s pain high so they make more mistakes and then they have an excuse to physically abuse them?” 

“Seems like it. Nobody lasts long around here anyway.” Her voice was small. Tom was glad he couldn’t see her face. He put down the last empty packet of analgesics on the table, and helped her pull her jumpsuit back over her back, careful to keep the fabric from dragging against her burns. She closed the fasteners in the front, pulling her coat back on while he cleaned up the detritus from the gels. He placed the medkit carefully back in its slot in the cockpit, reminding himself to try requesting a dermal regenerator from Tordy again. 

When he returned to the table he saw B’Elanna had pulled two of the welding tools from her pocket, and was patiently waiting for him to bring the toolkit. He returned to the cockpit to retrieve both the toolkit and the small stash of hidden tools, and laid them all out on the table in front of her. She set to work immediately, and he slid into his spot across the table from her, watching her in silence for a few minutes. 

“So how much of this welder project is an old Maquis trick, and how much is a B’Elanna Torres Original Idea?” Tom asked.

“I’ll give you a hint,” she said, trading out the spanner in her hand for the recoupler. “‘Old Maquis trick’ is always Chakotay’s code for ‘B’Elanna’s original idea that saved everyone’s ass when we were in the Maquis.’” Tom laughed at that.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he said. He was watching her hands working away on the welding tools. “Chakotay was lucky to have you on the _Val Jean_.”

“Maybe if _you_ had been on the _Val Jean_ in the Badlands we wouldn’t have ended up here in the Delta Quadrant,” she said, a chord of distress sounding more urgently in each word. “I wouldn’t be here, in Retener.” 

Tom paused, considering this, while B’Elanna again traded out a tool and kept up her work. He had thought about it before, had wondered what would have happened if they had gotten to know each other at various other points in their lives: the Academy, the Maquis. It seemed to him that only the Delta Quadrant could have allowed them this unexpected harmony, without the dissonance that surely would have defined any other earlier relationship they might have had. Being stranded in the Delta Quadrant was the only variation on the theme that would have ever worked. 

And it was too late for them now. If only they hadn’t been captured by the Kordaien and brought here to Tilnauch. If only he could have seen Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres play out on _Voyager_ like they were supposed to. 

“We’ll get out of here,” he said, to himself or to B’Elanna, he wasn’t sure. “Between Chakotay’s ability to lead a rebellion and your original ideas… we’ll be back on _Voyager_ soon.”

“Not soon enough,” she said, somewhat violently closing up the second welding tool. “I want to write down my ideas for manufacturing explosives for Chakotay,” she said suddenly. “Do you have another PADD?”

Tom hesitated at that. Tordy had been exceptionally angry about the PADDs Tom had already “lost” to Chakotay. He had replaced them after giving Tom a good dressing down, but his reaction was excessive, even for Tordy. Tom wondered if he was somehow putting Tordy at risk by blowing through all these PADDs. Was this the sort of thing that would cause a sober Neefa Swain to beat his business manager to death? But Tom got up and rummaged around in the cupboard for another PADD. By the time he got back to the kitchen table B’Elanna had finished packing up the tools, and he stashed them away again while she began making her notes.

Tom returned from the cockpit and sat down across from her, waiting. He was tired and ready for bed, and hoping B’Elanna would stay here again tonight. She ignored him completely, typing away or sometimes staring into space, deep in thought. He rubbed at his beard, and then his eyes, willing himself to stay awake long enough for B’Elanna to finish her work. She must be even more exhausted than he was. Her motivation was impressive.

She finished up, and handed the PADD over to Tom. “There, that gives him a couple basic options for explosives,” she said. “Tell Chakotay if he goes with that second option he’s going to need that isolinear spanner. Maybe just give him the one you already have.” 

“The one that you use all the time?” He furrowed his brow at her as he said it.

“Can I stay here again tonight?” she asked, her voice sharp with emotion.

“Yeah, of course, I was planning on it,” he agreed immediately, but he wasn’t fooled; he’d noticed the quick subject change. She got up and walked stiffly to the lavatory, closing the door carefully behind her. Tom was left alone, his brain processing through the events of the night, B’Elanna’s words. There was only one reason B’Elanna Torres would give away her tools: she wasn’t planning on being around to use them again.


	14. Chapter 14

Tom strode down the gangway of the _74656_ and into Neefa Swain’s compound, frowning at the strong taste of blood in his mouth. The taste was more pungent here than anywhere else on his routes, except Retener of course. 

Tom was due back at Retener tomorrow, having previously departed thirteen days ago. He and B’Elanna had awakened before dawn to say their goodbyes, her pulling her coat tightly around her small frame, him wrapped in his blanket against the morning chill inside the _74656_. Tom couldn’t shake the feeling that B’Elanna didn’t expect to see him again, and he wasn’t sure what to say to her about it. What words could he find that would have magic enough to keep her alive through another two week cycle?

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you here,” he said, as he stood in front of her next to the portal. The truth. 

“Yeah, me too,” she said. There was a finality in her voice that carved dread into his heart. He had wrapped his arms around her small, grey form—careful to avoid pressing too hard on her back—and forced his breathing to stay even and his emotions to match. He didn’t expect her to bury herself in his embrace, but she did, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and they stood like that for a moment. 

“I have to go,” she whispered, pulling away.

“Stay safe.” It was the opening line in their ritual farewell. He waited for her response, but she was silent for a few moments before haltingly muttering her reply.

“See you soon.” And she turned and went down the portal. She was already gone by the time Tom realized he had forgotten to give her a few extra _tumen_. 

He had arrived in Avil later that day, and met with Chakotay that evening. He hadn’t been in pain due to his new _tumen_ conservation strategy, and his meeting with Chakotay went well. He handed over the PADD with instructions for explosives and only one of the welder weapons—he had decided to keep one for himself. Chakotay had scrolled through the instructions for the explosives, nodding with satisfaction before filling in Tom on the latest news from Avil. Chakotay had located two more members of the _Voyager_ crew: Hewes and Jurot, working agricultural duty outside the city of Balumtre. The worker communications network had grown to seven hacked systems and things were picking up. Chakotay assured him that he was getting closer on the medical tricorder and armband. Maybe they could get B’Elanna out in time after all.

For the next two weeks Tom had continued his own machinations in his various ports of call: prowling landing pads looking for open toolkits, and quietly asking after the _Voyager_ crew when he could. His search for a medkit continued to prove fruitless, but he got a hit on a crewmember while he was loading containers in Tun. 

“There is a Tal Celes from _Voyager_ here,” a slight Banean worker had whispered to Tom as they moved a cargo container into the _74656_. “Working in the household of Tacquil Swor.” Tom had been so surprised he hadn’t said anything in response.

The next time he got a hit, he was ready.

“Lyndsay Ballard from _Voyager_ is here in Kulnur.” This time the whisper came from a large Kazon worker. 

“Tell her that Tom Paris says hello and to stay ready: we’re working on a plan to get us all out.” The Kazon man said nothing, moving away from Tom quickly. Tom had expected that response, but hoped the man would get the message to Lyndsay somehow. He hadn’t thought it prudent to start sharing the details of Chakotay’s uprising with just anyone (and frankly Tom wasn’t even privy to the details himself), but he could at least let the rest of the crew know that they weren’t alone, and that plans were being formed. It might go a long way toward getting them all back in one piece. 

Now Tom was back at Neefa Swain’s compound, having just returned from a long circuit through several northern cities. He would leave for Retener tomorrow morning. The lead up always filled him with anxious excitement and dread. For several months now he had been playing out a fantasy in his head where he broke B’Elanna out of Retener and kept her safely hidden in the living quarters of the _74656_. He lay alone in his bunk at night picturing B’Elanna in the top bunk, a stronger, healthier version of B’Elanna. His imaginings usually devolved quickly into one that involved her crawling down to share the bottom bunk with him, some desperate kissing, jumpsuits being ripped off. 

Lately he couldn’t get past that part of the fantasy without remembering the jagged, angry burns on her back. He wondered if they were healing, scarring over. How many scars would she have by the time she got out of there? If she got out of there? The Doctor could fix the physical scarring, but what about the rest? There was only so much a person could take, even a half-Klingon person.

He cleared his head with a shake, and headed toward the administrative building, PADDs in hand for delivery to Tordy.

“Tom Pilot!” Neefa Swain was sitting on one of the creaky plastic chairs in front of the administrative building, an active _fluordin_ in one hand, digging in one of his pockets with the other hand. Tom paused in front of his boss, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand so that he could study Neefa Swain’s blotchy violet face. The _fluordin_ in the man’s hand was a good sign that this was the jolly version of Neefa Swain, but Tom was never completely certain which version of Neefa Swain he was going to get. “Tordy showed me the numbers yesterday,” Neefa Swain was saying, “and they are good. So good! We will be needing another pilot and ship for all the good business.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I had already made inquiries to obtain another pilot from your cohort, but sadly it seems they have all been sold.” Neefa Swain coughed as he said it. Tom perked up at this information. Did that mean everyone was now here on the planet? “It is too bad,” the Nauchan man continued, “a breeding program would have been good business, especially if your species has large litters.” Neefa Swain laughed to himself, and his hand emerged triumphantly from his pocket, clutching another _fluordin_ cigarette. He held it out to Tom, another gift. It took all of Tom’s polite self-control to stop a grimace from appearing on his face as he reached out and took the cylinder from Neefa Swain. 

“Don’t let me keep you, Tom Pilot, you have important work to do, no?” Neefa Swain waved Tom off with one hand as he plunged his other back into his pocket, undoubtedly searching out another _fluordin_ for himself now. Tom nodded, happy to be dismissed, and went into the dark coolness of the administrative building.

Tordy looked up as Tom placed the PADDs on his desk. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Tom slipping the _fluordin_ from Neefa Swain into his pocket with his other hand.

“Nothing will end a worker’s career faster than an addiction to _fluordin_ ,” Tordy said through clenched teeth.

“I’m being careful,” Tom said. Tordy’s glare only deepened.

“Here are the orders for your trip to Retener tomorrow.” Tordy handed a new PADD to Tom, then turned to open the drawer with the _tumen_. “Perhaps Neefa Swain has already shared with you the good news that Neefa Swain Corporation will most likely be acquiring another vessel and another pilot?”

“Yeah, he mentioned it.” Tom let the grimace come to his face now as he recalled Neefa Swain’s words about the breeding program. His little conversation with their employer had brought up some disturbing questions. Tom wished, yet again, that Tordy would allow himself to be more of a friend and less of an adversary.

“Perhaps it will please you to know that you won’t be doing the Retener run for much longer.” Tordy was busily placing the _tumen_ in the satchel for Tom as he said it. “When we acquire a new pilot I will assign them this route. It will be good experience for a new worker, as you know.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind the Retener run,” Tom stammered. “I’d like to keep it, even if we get a new pilot.” Now Tordy met his eyes and glared at him. Tom realized, too late, that Tordy had thought he was doing Tom a favor by taking him off the Retener business. Now Tom had refused Tordy’s gift, and raised his suspicions. Damn. 

“What do you mean by this?”

“Nothing!” Tom panicked. “I just… I mean… the mountains there are beautiful. Have you seen them? And it’s interesting flying… you know I enjoy the more difficult piloting.” Tordy’s face was an unreadable mask. “I’m just saying that I don’t mind it, and maybe we don’t want to scare the new pilot right away.” Tordy glared at him with deep mistrust as he handed the bag of _tumen_ over to Tom. 

“Perhaps on your way out you should thank Neefa Swain for the very generous safety and freedoms he provides for you.” Tordy’s tone was icy and sharp. A warning. 

“Yes, okay, thank you,” Tom said, gathering up the _tumen_ from Tordy’s desk. He burst back out into the orange sunlight of the compound. Neefa Swain’s bulbous form was leaning back in the rickety plastic chair now, smoke dissipating from the new _fluordin_ in his hand. His eyes were closed, a tepid smile on his face, and Tom walked right by him without saying a word.


	15. Chapter 15

B’Elanna wasn’t in the procession of workers at Retener that evening. Tom watched carefully, his anxiety growing as the line of grey-clad, shivering figures advanced with the minutes. Where was she? 

He sat out on the gangway with his PADD until the dusky sky became all blackness. He retreated into the vessel, leaving the gangway open and the portal unlocked. He set out a bowl of food and two _tumen_ , as if she could be summoned by his preparations.

It was the not knowing that was the hardest. But in a situation like this he would likely never know what had happened to her. There would be no closure, only assumptions and terrible imaginings and more guilt to load on his back. He had contemplated his own death here on Tilnauch, had wished for it even while up on Tilnauch-Alpha. It wouldn’t have been so bad, his end coming in a small white room; there were a lot of other less savory ways he could have gone down over the years. But B’Elanna shouldn’t die here alone in Retener. That wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. 

He thought about the _fluordin_ he had acquired from Neefa Swain, stashed in his kitchen. Would a few puffs calm his nerves? Just enough so he could focus, enough so that his heart wouldn’t shatter over and over again? He stood in front of the drawer where he kept the _fluordin_ , his fingertips on the handle. 

He heard boots scuffing against the rungs of the ladder. His heart suddenly restored and began pounding, and he dashed to open the portal. Emotion surged through his body; B’Elanna was here. She was still alive.

Tom reached a hand down to help her, and she took it, heaving herself up, gasping for breath like she always did when the pain level was too much. Tom snaked an arm around her waist before she could collapse, supporting her, and carefully led her back to the table. He lowered her onto the bench and then slid in next to her. He pushed her coat aside, grabbed the _tumen_ already laid out on the table, and administered them in quick succession. He sat with his arm very carefully wrapped around her shoulders, choking back his own overwhelming emotions as she choked out a few more quick breaths. 

“Do you need another one?” he asked.

“No I just… just stay here. I just need a minute.” She took a deep breath and leaned her head back against the wall with her eyes closed. Tom settled in next to her, and she leaned her body into his. He could feel her breathing finally slowing and her body becoming still. He gripped her more tightly than he meant to, hardly believing she was really here.

“I was so worried,” he whispered. “I thought you were dead.” She said nothing, still catching her breath from the _tumen_. She was so warm in his arms, even with her coat still halfway on. “We need to get you out of here.”

“There’s only one way out of here,” she said, her voice low, her tone derisive.

“No,” he said with force. He had just contemplated her death, and would not entertain the notion again. Never again. He leaned his head against hers, his forehead pressing into her ridges, their noses nearly touching. “I won’t let that happen.” His emotions had expanded beyond his control, and he very nearly kissed her.

But then B’Elanna lifted her lips to his, kissing him first. 

He pulled away, his brain finally registering the events. They looked at each other for a moment, her eyes echoing his own surprise. Then she reached up and ran a hand along his bearded jawline. Tom shivered.

She pulled him toward her and kissed him again, hungrily this time, and he felt his cock growing hard against the fabric of his jumpsuit. He was so hungry for her too, for this, but he couldn’t quite make sense of it. Was this supposed to be happening? B’Elanna pulled back slightly. 

“What?” She was slightly breathless. 

“I just… is this what you want? Is this...” Her mood seemed to shift instantaneously, and she laughed at him. He hadn’t heard that in a long time. He loved her laugh. She leaned in and kissed him again, and he responded enthusiastically, moving from her lips along her cheek to her neck. His hands explored her waist and her hips. He hesitated at her breasts; he wasn’t sure what this was, what the parameters were going to be. She must have sensed his hesitation because she pulled away, an amused look on her face, and began shrugging her coat off. She leaned into him with some sort of new fierceness, pushing him off the bench, and Tom jumped up to a stand, still not quite sure where this was going.

His erection was quite prominent beneath the fabric of his jumpsuit, now that he was standing. He felt momentarily self-conscious, but then B’Elanna stood, leaving her coat behind, and looked him up and down appreciatively. She moved to him, pressed the length of her body against his, and directed him backward toward the bunks. His hands were enjoying the curve of her hips, pulling her pelvis in closer to him.

Her hands were making quick work of the fasteners on his jumpsuit. She peeled his jumpsuit off of him, pushing it to the floor. Tom was naked now, newly strengthened biceps and chest on display, rock hard manhood even more evident. It occurred to Tom that the current state of undress was a little unfair, but B’Elanna was already working her own fasteners, and he eagerly helped. He was mindful as he helped her pull her jumpsuit away from her skin. He knew about the burns on her back, and was careful to avoid them, but his breath caught in his throat as he saw the new bruising on her chest, and the deep gash near her collar bone.

He hesitated, pausing his hands. It was strange to think of B’Elanna Torres as fragile, stranger still to treat her like she was.

She covered the gash with a hand, suddenly looking very self-conscious. Tom shifted his strategy, gently kissing his way down from her cheeks to her chest, acting as if he couldn’t see the bloom of bruises. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, which only seemed to make her more uncomfortable. But it was true. Even bruised and battered she was gorgeous, and he could only imagine what she would have looked like had they done this back on _Voyager_ like they should have. What fun they could have had without worrying about bruises and burns and what would happen in the morning. “You are beautiful,” he said it again, imploring her this time. 

She pushed him into the lower bunk, and he was on his back, B’Elanna above him, straddling him. He had full access to her body now, running his hands gently from her ass to her waist to breasts and back down. He pulled her in close again; he wanted to keep tasting her mouth against his, feel her hair falling around him.

She was sliding her warm cleft against his cock, both of them shuddering with anticipation. She paused her horizontal movement for a second, and Tom took the opportunity to take one of her nipples in his mouth. She exhaled quickly as he did, and then she surprised him by arching her back, positioning her pelvis, and taking all of him inside her center. They both groaned.

She began moving, him inside of her, slowly at first and then more and more quickly, her hands gripping his shoulders. Tom continued to move his hands around her body, watching her rocking back and forth. The sight and sensation of her riding him was overpowering. He was just beginning to worry that he wouldn’t last much longer when he felt the spasming of her nascent orgasm around him, and she groaned, grasping his shoulders even more tightly. As her climax subsided, he pulled her closer and gently kissed a trail along her cheek. She was panting, recovering, and had collapsed on top of him now.

Tom grinned, pulling himself out from under her, and rotating her onto her back on the bunk. “I’m not done with you,” he whispered. Now he was above her, carefully keeping his weight on his knees so as not to press too much of his weight on her body.

They both gasped with pleasure again as he entered her, and B’Elanna threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close. He thrust inside of her, both of them enjoying the sensations of this new angle, and he felt her fingernails digging into his back, while she moaned. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such quick but intense sex. He wasn’t sure whether it was the tension of the situation, the amount of time he had previously spent fantasizing about this very thing, or the result of some new emotional bond. He did know he wasn’t going to last long now.

B’Elanna began shaking underneath him, and it suddenly became clear that she was very close to climax again. She started gasping, and the very thought of making her come again pushed Tom over the edge, and he felt himself releasing powerfully inside of her. 

They came down together, panting and sweaty, and he stayed inside of her a few moments after, trying to make sure he supported his own weight and didn’t hurt her. They had been all passion and hunger earlier, but now he kissed her gently, and B’Elanna kissed him back, almost timidly.

He finally laid down next to her, pulling the blankets over their naked bodies, facing each other, his hand on her hip, her hands against his chest. She had closed her eyes, and tucked her head under his chin. He moved his hand up to her hair, gently running his fingers through it. Neither of them said anything for a long time, and eventually her breathing slowed, and her body relaxed, and she was asleep.

Tom closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her against him, the afterglow of the sex act. He tried to forget that tomorrow morning they would part ways again, go back to their separate lives. He wanted so badly to take her with him, keep her safe. He was angry at Chakotay for not yet finding an armband or a medical tricorder. He was angry at himself for not working harder to find a way to get her out of here. Why did it feel like it was already too late?

He wished she was still awake, but didn’t dare wake her up. He had so many things to tell her: how amazing he thought she was, how much he missed her when he was away, how he felt so scared and powerless. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. But what a ridiculous notion that was. They had been good friends for a year now, colleagues for more than that, something else for the past several months now. This was not exactly how he had pictured it going but…

But what if he didn’t get another chance to say it?

He pulled her even closer then and she relaxed into him, still asleep. Tom kept his thoughts to himself, trying to memorize the feeling of her so close, in case it was the last time.


	16. Chapter 16

When Tom woke up the next morning B’Elanna had already gone. He would make a joke about it when (if) he saw her again, but really he was hurt and confused by her covert departure. Was she embarrassed or upset about what had happened between them? He thought he had made it clear that he cared about her, and she had certainly seemed like an enthusiastic partner.

When Tom departed Retener that morning he was certain that he had made a mess out of everything. But by the time he reached Avil he had made a resolution: It didn’t matter how she felt about him, he knew how he felt about her, and he was going to get her out of there. 

When he met Chakotay that evening he had an agenda.

“Nothing from B’Elanna?” Chakotay frowned when Tom had crossed his arms rather than offer up new weapons.

“No,” Tom said. “Not until we get her out of Retener.”

“Are you making demands now, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Tom straightened his back as he said it, an expression of cool distaste forming on his face. Maybe he did have a little of Admiral Owen Paris in him after all.

“Is this coming from B’Elanna or from you?” Chakotay stood up straighter now too, crossing his own arms to signal his preemptive skepticism of Tom’s next sentence. 

“No, this is coming from me,” Tom said.

“Look, I don’t have time for whatever weird sexist thing you have going on with B’Elanna, but if she knew you were saying this, you would probably be dead,” Chakotay said. Tom scowled at this. The sexist comment was a low blow, but effective: a reminder of a persona he had been trying very hard to shed for the last couple years. 

The men stared silently at each other for a few moments. Tom’s right arm throbbed with the low buzz of armband pain that he now lived with constantly. Earlier in the day he had allowed the pain to feed into his black mood. But right now it reminded him of all the _tumen_ he had been skipping during the last several weeks, the mental resilience it had taken to make himself live with a low level of pain in order to conserve _tumen_. He had done that for B’Elanna, and he was doing this for B’Elanna too. It didn’t matter what Chakotay thought of Tom’s motives.

“This isn’t some weird sexist thing, Chakotay. You know they use violence and pain to control the workers in Retener? The guards took a plasma whip to B’Elanna a few weeks ago. Her back was ripped apart. She’s in constant pain from the armband and she’s getting weaker every time I see her. She’s lost too much weight, and she’s tired and desperate and has no way out. She’s going to die in there soon if we don’t get her out, and I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. So yeah, I’m sure she’ll make weapons for you for as long as she can because that’s the kind of person she is, and that’s what she wants to be doing. But right now she needs someone to advocate for her out here, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“A plasma whip?” Chakotay frowned.

“Yeah,” Tom confirmed.

“I’ve never heard of a worker being treated like that.”

“Retener is a special kind of hell for workers,” Tom said. The wrinkles on Chakotay’s forehead deepened. Time for Tom to make his pitch. 

“We need to double down on getting that extra armband,” Tom said. “That’s our best chance of getting B’Elanna out. Maybe you have contacts who would be willing to trade for an extra armband?” Tom pulled from his pocket the three cigarettes from Neefa Swain.

“ _Fluordin_.” Chakotay looked surprised. “Those are worth a lot of money. Where did you get these?”

“They were gifts, but I thought they might have value on the black market,” Tom said. “Do you think you can trade these for an armband?”

Chakotay reached out and took the three _fluordin_ , examining them in his palm. “I can definitely try.”

“For armbands, not weapons,” Tom reminded him. “Besides, if we get B’Elanna out of Retener, keep her safe, she’ll be able to make you all the weapons you want. It’s good strategy.”

“I’ll make it a priority; see you in two weeks.” Chakotay had inclined his head in agreement as the triple buzz sounded above them, and he pocketed the small cylinders.

The next day Tom was back at Neefa Swain’s for routine maintenance on the _74656_ before his next run. His little chat with Chakotay had boosted his confidence, but only briefly. Even if Chakotay managed to get an armband this week Tom wouldn’t receive it for fourteen days, and it would be yet another fourteen day cycle before he could bring it to B’Elanna. Assuming she managed to hack that armband systems in a single night her freedom was still twenty-eight days away. A long time for anyone to survive at Retener, even a resilient half-Klingon.

There might be a way to get her out of there more quickly, but it would require him to show his hand and bring someone new into his confidence. Someone he still wasn’t sure about. He had agonized over it during his flight back to Neefa Swain’s, but ultimately decided to do it, take the leap. Now he left the _74656_ in the dirty hands of the contract mechanic, and he jogged past the empty cracked plastic seats and into the administrative building. Tom pushed the door open with such urgency that Tordy startled.

“Tordy, has Neefa Swain every thought about buying an engineer?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know why this is of concern to you,” Tordy sniffed, clearly perturbed by Tom’s sudden entrance. 

“Didn’t you say you’ll be acquiring another vessel soon, another pilot? And what about Neefa Swain’s personal shuttle? How much do you have to pay the contract mechanic’s employer to have him come every time that needs maintenance? And the scheduling alone must be a pain in the ass… If you had someone here full time you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Again,” Tordy said testily, “I do not see how this is of concern to you.” 

“I know a great engineer,” Tom said. “Her talent is being wasted at Retener. She—”

“Did I not tell you to _be careful at Retener_.” Tordy was standing now, his eyes wide with anger. He pounded his spotted fists into the table. “Have you been fraternizing with the workers at Retener? Of all places?” Tom had never seen the skinny Talaxian so worked up. 

“Okay, take it easy, Tordy.” Tom held up his hands. “I knew her from before. She’s from my crew.”

Tordy’s eyes changed when Tom said that. “You knew her from… your crew?”

“Yes, we were friends,” Tom said fiercely. More than that now.

Tordy sighed, and stared into his desk. “I have tried to tell you so many times, Tom Pilot. You are an excellent pilot, efficient, agreeable. You have a future of safety and comfort here with Neefa Swain. But you _must_ abandon your old connections. There is no other way.”

“I can’t just—”

“No worker comes out of Retener alive,” Tordy shouted at Tom. His yellow eyes blazed with fierceness, and a pain that Tom hadn’t seen before. He seemed taken aback by the intensity of his own reaction. Tordy sat down, and began to speak slowly and deliberately. “It is impossible to purchase a worker from Retener. Workers at Retener are only meant to last a few months.”

“But why? I don’t understand—” Tom was interrupted by Tordy holding up his hand for silence. Tom shut his mouth, and Tordy continued.

“Perhaps if I explain the history you will finally understand. Not long before I came to Tilnauch there was a worker uprising at Retener, the first in the history of this place. All the Nauchan guards were killed. Every worker was killed too, of course, after a few days without the _tumen_. But the damages were astronomical. Or so I have been told. Retener Corporation was humiliated. No Nauchan would go to work there as a guard again unless the corporation agreed to turn up the pain on the armbands, in order to prevent another uprising. I do not know the reasoning behind the physical abuse, but Retener Corporation does have a reason for keeping their workers in extreme pain.” Tordy looked up at Tom. “You are wondering how I know this? My first employer was Agnei Corporation.”

“I haven’t heard of them.”

“No. They no longer exist. They were a major competitor of Retener Corporation. There were thirty-six of us on my ship when we were captured by the Emil. Eight of us employed by Agnei, most of the others purchased by Retener. But Retener Corporation grew bigger, Agnei grew smaller, and eventually went under. I was sold at auction.” He paused.

“Your friends…” Tom started, then stopped. 

“The ones who went to Retener are all dead. The others are lost.”

“Tordy, I’m sorry…”

“Listen to me, Tom Pilot, please.” Tordy’s tone had changed, melancholy notes now forming a crescendo of intensity. “There is nothing you can do for her. Nothing. Put her out of your mind. I will redouble my efforts to purchase a second vessel and a second pilot, and we will take you off the Retener run as soon as possible.” Tordy was very serious, and Tom got the impression that Tordy wasn’t doing this just to cover his own ass and keep Tom in line. He was trying to help Tom, but in the only way he knew now. Was it possible that Tordy had been Tom’s ally all along, just with a different goal in mind? 

“No,” Tom said. “Please don’t, Tordy. I haven’t done anything that would put my employment here in jeopardy.” He did feel bad lying to Tordy. “And I won’t do anything to upset you or Neefa Swain or Retener Corporation.” More lying.

Tordy stared at him for a long time before responding. “You are a good pilot, and a good trader, and a good worker. I do not want Neefa Swain to be forced to destroy you or sell you. As soon as we have a new pilot in place you will be off the Retener run. It has been decided.”

“Tordy, no—”

“The details of your next route are not complete. Please begin your resupply and come back before the evening meal.” Tordy sat down, and picked up the PADD he had abandoned when Tom had first burst into his office. “Against my best judgment, I will not tell Neefa Swain about this conversation. Consider this a favor. There will be no more.” 


	17. Chapter 17

Tom didn’t know what to expect when he landed at Retener again twelve days later. 

He refused to acknowledge the black pit of fear within him when he didn’t spot B’Elanna in the line of workers heading to their evening meal; instead he headed back into the living quarters of the _74656_. He pulled out two _tumen_ and set them on the table, again. He put a bowl of food out, again. She hadn’t been in the line last time, but she had still appeared. She would come now. She had to.

Tom paced. How many more times could he do this? How much longer could B’Elanna do this? And what would happen if she did appear tonight? Should he expect an encore to their activities last time? Was that even a good idea? He wasn’t entirely certain of her motivations in this regard, and he worried that it was based more on proximity and circumstance than on real emotions. The thought made him feel sick, and confused. He paced some more, rubbing at his beard, trying to remind himself of all the reasons he should be feeling optimistic right now.  

Tom had acquired some new tools while he had been away, and some new entries in his manifest. He had received word that Larson, Sharr, U’Lanai, and Johnson were all working in the northern city of Wilna. Bristow was on a mining operation near Paarn-Tel. Thorson was working in a household in the city of Talla. All these names had come to him in whispers as he passed through his usual ports on his familiar cargo runs. Twenty-six names on his manifest, and Chakotay was probably going to be handing him an extra armband tomorrow, and B’Elanna would have just two more weeks stuck in this hellhole. Things were about to change for the better.

He heard B’Elanna before he saw her, heaving herself up into the living quarters. He collected the orange _tumen_ on the table, and dashed over to join her on the floor, using the cylindrical devices on her in quick succession. He felt her shuddering and gasping next to him like she always did. He sat on the floor next to her and pulled her in close, careful to avoid touching her back. Relief flooded him. He hadn’t realized how worried he had been until now that she was in his arms again. She felt even smaller than last time, if that was possible. But she was still alive. She was B’Elanna Torres after all, tough as hell.

B’Elanna’s breath stopped coming in gasps, and her body relaxed against his. 

“You okay?” he asked. She nodded and began to stand unsteadily. He helped her up, instinctively pulling her in close against his body as he did. Their eyes met as they stood, and for a second Tom thought he had misjudged the situation and should not have pulled her in as closely as he had. But then B’Elanna curved her hand around his neck, pulled him in closer, and pressed her lips against his.  

Tom pulled back reflexively, his misgivings suddenly commanding his attention. She was hurt and sick and in danger and was this really what they should be doing right now? But the look on her face was one of hurt, and of need. He hesitated—he hadn’t quite expected this again even though he had hoped for it—and then he leaned back in, kissing her, matching her intensity. B’Elanna started undoing the fasteners on his jumpsuit while he made quick work of the fasteners on hers. He did need this: he needed to know she was alive. 

As they shed their clothes he gently directed her back into the bunks only a few meters behind them. Tom admired her soft nakedness as he hovered over her, trying very hard to make it seem like he hadn’t spotted the fresh set of bruises around her hips. Instead he kissed his way from her neck down to her breasts, paying special attention to her nipples. He slipped his cock against her wet cleft, enjoying the way she gasped and shuddered every time the head of his penis moved against her clit. She ran her fingernails up and down his back in rhythm with her own anticipatory exhalations, and he shivered with expectation. He had intended to play longer, but she apparently had other plans and shifted her pelvis, guiding him inside of her. They both sighed, and then he began sliding in and out of her, rubbing his bearded cheek against hers while he did so. She came first this time, him directly after. Their first encounter had been one of hungry desperation. This one had concluded even more quickly, but had been more passionate. They knew each other now, he had been inside of her before.

They lay wrapped up together in silence for a long time. The rush of hormones had banished all of Tom’s fears from his mind, and it was just him and B’Elanna, tangled up together in this safe place. 

He thought she’d fallen asleep when she suddenly sat up, pushing herself out of the bed and reaching for her jumpsuit on the floor. Tom got a full view of her back for a few seconds, the grim reality of this situation bearing down on him again. The burns from the plasma whip had turned an angry purple. Did that mean they were healing? He had no idea. All of his field medic training had assumed access to a dermal regenerator after no more than a day or so. Starfleet training manuals hadn’t anticipated the long-term suffering of Retener. 

“Where are you going?” Tom asked, one hand poised to grab her wrist. He wouldn’t let her run away this time. 

“I need to get this weapon made for Chakotay. Where are the tools?” She pulled another welding tool from the pocket of her jumpsuit as she said it and Tom frowned. He wanted her to himself. He wanted her in bed, pressed up next to him. But she needed this project, he knew. She needed to create something, fix something, do something. 

Tom sighed, got up, pulling on his own jumpsuit. He dug out the tools from their spot in the cockpit, and brought them back to B’Elanna at the table. He slid in across from her, watching her as she picked her way through his expanded selection of spanners. It seemed like it had been forever since they had been together like this. He wanted to reach across the table and hold her hand, but she needed her hands for her work, and anyway he wasn’t quite sure how she would react to that move when she wasn’t being driven by lust. Maybe later. 

For now, Tom talked. He told her about the six new names he had on the manifest, and about his new strategy for obtaining names. He assured her that Chakotay was still working on getting an extra armband. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you last time: I have a supply of extra _tumen_ now, plenty to spare. You should take some with you when you leave tomorrow morning.” Emphasis on the not leaving until tomorrow morning. B’Elanna surprised him by laughing in response to this.

“As if that will solve everything.” Her words were filled with scorn. “More _tumen_ , that’s been the answer all along. That’s all I need to get through this.” Tom quit curbing his need for physical contact, and reached across the table, grabbing her free hand. His move startled her, and she looked up at him.

“I know it’s not enough,” he said. “And I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m working to get you out of here.”

“There’s only one way out of here,” she said, and she pulled her hand away and dropped her gaze. Tom clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell her that he loved her too much to let her die in here. That he would find a way. But he didn’t want to make a promise that he couldn’t keep, and he didn’t want to scare her with the depth of his emotions, his desperate desire for her. 

His long silence softened her, and after a few moments she moved her hand back to his, gripping it tightly. He pulled it closer and kissed it gently.

“We’ll find a way,” he said. And at that moment he believed it, even if she didn’t.

She made quick work of the weapon, although she continued to ignore the food despite (because of?) his encouragement to eat. He hid the tools and the toolkit again. While B’Elanna was in the lavatory he put all seven _tumen_ from his stash in one of the pockets of her coat. With any luck this would be her last fourteen days at Retener. She was right that the _tumen_ wouldn’t save her, but they would help. 

B’Elanna reappeared. It was clear it was time for bed, but she seemed to hesitate at that. Would she only deign to share a bed with him when they were being carried along by a river of hormones? He led her to his bunk, searching her for signs of resistance, but she came with him easily. They laid under the blankets together, her back to his belly, fully-clothed, for a good ten minutes before the growing insistence of Tom’s erection became apparent to them both, and they abandoned all pretense, shedding clothes, running hands up and down each other’s bodies. This encounter lasted much longer, Tom coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of B’Elanna before finally succumbing to his own climax inside of her.

She fell asleep almost immediately afterward, and Tom lay awake for a while, replaying their actions in his head. He wondered again what would this have been like on _Voyager_ , being like this with her? Compared to the rest of their existence on Tilnauch, this, their relationship, the sex, this was the easy part. Would it have felt like that on _Voyager_ too? Like they had found refuge in each other?

This probably would not have happened on _Voyager_. The thought made him uneasy. Was this purely situational for her? She was obviously very willing, but was she really in a state of mind where she could make decisions like that? Tom knew that he felt very deeply about her, but he didn’t know how she felt, what was going through her mind. Was it purely physical for her? Or was she letting him take advantage? What would Chakotay say if he knew about this? Chakotay would definitely accuse Tom of taking advantage, maybe throw a couple good punches in his direction.

Despite his extended night of fretting, he managed to wake up early the next morning to say goodbye. They stood together by the portal, and he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her and pulled her in close, but it was so painful he almost wished he had slept through her departure again. Staying was a death sentence. Leaving was a death sentence.

“Stay safe,” he said, waiting for her usual response. 

She said nothing in return.

As he brought the _74656_ up to altitude that morning, he thought again of Tordy’s warnings, his advice to abandon his old connections. Tom felt the great empty sadness and fear pressing down on him again, that unwanted physical reverberation of his emotions. He thought then, just for a few moments as he watched Retener grow smaller below him, that maybe Tordy was right. There was only one way, and it was to forget, to walk away. 

Tom took a deep breath. He squeezed his right hand into a fist, remembered the feeling of her hand in his as they had sat at the table last night. He would not forget. He would not walk away. 


	18. Chapter 18

The next day, Tom was in Avil helping to steady a cargo container as a group of workers moved it into place on the landing pad. He was thinking that he must be an idiot to even consider what he was about to attempt. 

The idea had occurred to him during his long flight from Retener to Avil, and he was angry at himself for not coming up with it sooner. Or maybe he just hadn’t been desperate enough before to come up with something so obviously stupid. Desperate or stupid or brave? What was the difference anyway?

Tordy had told him that every port had a medic and that Tom would be treated with a dermal regenerator if needed. For over one hundred days now he had been flying for Neefa Swain, and he had yet to spot this supposed medic, bearer of the dermal regenerator. Of course, he had also never witnessed a major injury to a worker, nothing more than a minor cut or scrape which could be left to heal on its own.

And that is why, as the final hulking cargo container slid into place next to another container, Tom intentionally put his hand between the two containers to be crushed.

Yes, this was definitely a stupid idea. And wow, real pain was very different from the strange electric pain that radiated from his armband when he skipped a _tumen_. 

Tom howled, unable to pull his crushed hand out from between the two containers. The Avil worker who had been right behind him started shouting to the others to pull the container back, and they did so efficiently. Tom pulled his hand out, horrified by the new angles in two of his fingers, and by how quickly the entire thing was beginning to swell. The Nauchan foreman jogged over, took a look at Tom’s hand and made an exasperated sound. 

“Did you come from Worker Intake yesterday, you fool?”

“I’m sorry,” Tom groaned through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Please send a medic to cargo vessel bay 240A,” the Nauchan spoke into his handheld comm device. “Sit there and wait for the medic,” he instructed Tom. “I will complete the forms.” Tom sat at the end of the _74656_ ’s gangway, gritting his teeth and regretting everything. The curtain of pain was making it difficult to think clearly.

The medic was a skinny Nauchan, light violet with extremely short spines along his head and neck. His jumpsuit was bright white, perfectly clean. Despite his apparent youth he moved quite slowly. Tom’s hand was now swollen to at least twice its regular size, and Tom was beginning to worry that he had made a disastrous mistake. The medic knelt in front of Tom, setting down his medkit between them and looking at Tom with distaste. 

The medic took Tom’s hand in his—at least Tom couldn’t feel the claws pressing into his skin amidst all the other pain—growled to himself, and opened the medkit. From this angle Tom could see the jumbled pile of tools inside the kit, but nothing he could easily identify as a dermal regenerator or a medical tricorder. If he hadn’t already been grimacing, he would have started then.

The medic set to work. The first tool he used seemed to do nothing. Tom started to wonder if this guy knew what the hell he was doing. The second tool made the swelling go down, and after that was the bone knitter, apparently more rudimentary than the ones on _Voyager_ , because the sensation almost made Tom scream. He managed to stifle it into a more civilized groan. That one took forever, but when the medic was done, Tom’s fingers all ran parallel again. Now there were just a few small gashes left where the skin had broken, and the medic produced a small hexagon, more like a comm badge than a medical tool, but Tom saw immediately that this was the dermal regenerator. He watched with satisfaction as his skin was woven back together again. The medic put the dermal regenerator back in the medkit, and Tom knew this was his chance.

“You should really check the skids on this container.” The medic startled at the sound of Tom’s voice. “The one right there, see where my hand was smashed? I think that nearest skid is off kilter.” With his right hand he motioned enthusiastically, and as the medic’s eyes followed his gestures his left hand dove into the medkit, his fingers encircling a small hexagonal tool. He quickly slid it into his nearest jumpsuit pocket. 

“That’s not my problem. Tell the foreman.”

“Oh, okay, I will,” Tom said. He flexed his fingers proudly. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

The medic just looked at him sourly, closed up his medkit, and stood, brushing the orange dust off his knees. Tom watched the Nauchan walking away, wondering why in the hell anyone would wear a pure white uniform on this extremely dusty planet. 

Tom was pumped up later as he loitered around the gangway of the _74656_ waiting for Chakotay to show. He had a dermal regenerator hidden away in a drawer in his kitchen, and B’Elanna’s newest welder-phaser for Chakotay in his pocket. In a few minutes he would hand the welder-phaser over to Chakotay and would receive an armband in return, the key to B’Elanna’s freedom.

So Tom was surprised and annoyed a few minutes later to find Chakotay waiting for him in the shadows with a disgusted look on his face, and no armband in sight.

“What the hell was that, Lieutenant?” he barked at Tom.

“What the hell was what, _Commander_?” Tom had been in an exultant mood just a few minutes ago, but now very easily managed to say Chakotay’s rank with a sneer. 

“I heard about what happened earlier; it’s all over the port!” Chakotay said. “I need you focused, Paris, not drawing attention to yourself. Are you trying to get this resistance movement shut down? Trying to get us all killed?” Tom took a step back, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Did you get the armband?” Tom asked through clenched teeth. 

“What?”

“The armband for B’Elanna. Or the medical tricorder. Did you get any of it?”

“No.” There was no note of apology in Chakotay’s voice. Tom closed his eyes, exhaled. He had been so certain. He had been so certain that next time he would be getting her out. His anger collapsed in on itself, festering into resentment.

“I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself,” Tom said. “I needed them to call the medic so I could steal a dermal regenerator.” 

Chakotay narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why the hell—”

“For B’Elanna.”

“For B’Elanna?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Chakotay blinked, his face suddenly displaying the note of apology that Tom had expected earlier. 

The two men stood in silence, staring at each other for a few moments, allied at last.


	19. Chapter 19

In what was becoming a far too familiar part of his routine, Tom was pacing furiously back and forth across the living quarters of the _74656_ in Retener, waiting for B’Elanna to appear. He was mulling the second half of his meeting with Chakotay, now thirteen days ago.

“I’m still working on that armband,” Chakotay had assured him after Tom had admitted he had injured himself in order to steal a dermal regenerator for B’Elanna. “Everyone tells me it can’t be done, but there is some interest in the _fluordin_. There’s a worker at the medical facility here who said he might be able to help. I’m waiting on him.”

Chakotay had filled Tom in on the increased activities of his merry band of rebels, all business now. B’Elanna’s instructions for hacking the comm system had been spreading at an exponential rate. Tom had already noticed much more chatter on the worker channel, even in ports where he hadn’t previously heard anything. More weapons were being made, and they now had a small stash of explosives. Chakotay had located a group of eighteen members of the _Voyager_ crew who were working for a manufacturer in Thetsi, an industrial city in the south. Included in this group was Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. Chakotay was working behind the scenes to have as many of the former _Voyager_ crew transferred to Avil as possible. Most Nauchans had a worker in a managerial position, much like Tordy, and many of these were joining in the rebellion efforts. It was taking time, but _Voyager_ workers from other cities were slowly being purchased by businesses and households in Torshun and Avil and being consolidated in those two cities.

“I did try to get someone to purchase B’Elanna, to have her brought here,” Chakotay had said. “But as soon as I said ‘Retener’ they all backed off. They said it was impossible.”

“Yeah, Retener has that effect on workers,” Tom had replied. “I tried the same thing with my merchant’s manager and he kind of lost it on me.”

After leaving Avil Tom had continued what he had begun to think of as his small-scale offensive tactics. He continued stealing tools when the opportunity arose, and his whispered campaign to locate the crew of _Voyager_ was really starting to pay off. He had added eleven names to his manifest in those thirteen days, including Neelix. He had fifty-five people on his manifest now, a full third of the crew accounted for. Only ninety-nine people left to locate, including the captain and Harry. But there was still a lot to do before they could begin any sort of large-scale escape plan. 

Tom had also continued his quest for medical supplies, although that had proven less fruitful. A few days before he was due in Retener he had smashed his foot between containers while unloading cargo in the city of Buuelk. The Buuelk medic was just as testy as the one in Avil, and kept his medkit out of Tom’s easy reach. Tom’s injury attracted curious looks from the other workers, and glares from the Nauchan guards; he could feel eyes on him during the entire process of reassembling his toe bones. He came out of that particular campaign empty-handed, with a nagging ache in his toe, and new concerns that he had drawn too much attention to himself this time. Well, at least he still had the dermal regenerator. 

He was trying to think up a new method for acquiring medical tools when he heard a banging noise from the portal door. His heart jumped. B’Elanna was there, struggling up the ladder. He reached down and helped to pull her up, but her strength had failed her by the time she made it through the portal door. She lay on the floor, gasping at the pain. 

“Shit, hang on, B’Elanna.” He ran to grab the two _tumen_ on the table, and then administered them in quick succession. He held her, waiting for the shudder and the slowed breathing that would indicate a drop in her pain level. But her jaw was still clenched, her face frozen in a grimace, her breathing labored. It was bad this time. 

“Hold on, I’ll get another one.” She said nothing, and he quickly retrieved a third _tumen_ out of his stash, returning to her side to administer it. Now he sat with her on the floor, holding her. Her shaking began to slow, and she coughed. 

She suddenly scrambled to a stand under her own power.

“B’Elanna?” he asked, surprised. She didn’t acknowledge him, and ran to the lavatory. She slammed the door behind her seconds before the sound of retching came through the plastic walls. He stood up, hesitated. He would give her some privacy. At least if she could make it to the bathroom and slam the door she couldn’t be doing too badly right now. 

But she had never vomited after the _tumen_ before. And she was awfully pale and weak. 

Oh.

Oh shit. 

No.

Tom’s heart dropped into his stomach. She couldn’t be. She was in terrible shape. It must be impossible. 

But she could be. How many days had he been on this planet? More than one hundred now. When had he been due for his contraceptive booster? Well before that, he was certain. And what was her contraceptive status? He hadn’t even asked. He always asked. 

This could be a major complication. Now he wanted to vomit too. How could he have let this happen?

He could hear the water running in the bathroom now. He waited, his insides turning with the shock of it all. He admittedly didn’t know much about Klingon or cross-species reproduction, but from what little he did know, he was pretty sure the timing was right for her to be vomiting right now. 

“B’Elanna?” he tried.

“I’m okay,” she said from the bathroom, sounding stronger. “I’ll be out in a second.” There was more water running and more splashing. Tom’s heart was pounding now. Was B’Elanna going to volunteer this information, or would he have to ask her what was going on? She opened the lavatory door, still pale, but looking much stronger. 

“I’m okay,” she said again, and then she surprised him by coming to him, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his chest. He put his arms around her, resting his head on hers, his protective instincts heightened. “I feel much better now,” she added, her hands moving to the fasteners on his jumpsuit, her intentions clear. He put his hands over hers, stopping them.

“B’Elanna, are you pregnant?” he asked. She stopped.

“What?”

“Are you… is it possible you’re pregnant?”

“Is this because I puked? That was because of the third _tumen_.” She was scoffing at his concern. 

“It is possible, isn’t it?” he said, looking her right in the eyes. “Even if you were on boosters back on _Voyager_ , you’re behind now too, aren’t you?” 

“That’s none of your business—”

“It _is_ my business, and I should have made it my business before we started sleeping together.” How could she be taking this so lightly? This was a big, scary fucking deal.

“Tom, you couldn’t get me pregnant right now even if you tried. And what does it matter, anyway?” she said, defiance and frustration in her eyes.

“What does it _matter?_ ” Tom was incredulous. Was she mocking him? He ran his hands through his hair. He felt like his heart was going to bounce right out of his chest.

B’Elanna had taken a step back, but moved toward him again now, pursuit course engaged. She pressed her body against his and kissed him. Her right hand trailed from his chest down to below his abdomen, where his cock was already responding to her proximity. Her left hand was working again to free his body from his jumpsuit. He groaned, and tried to pull back from her but the bulkhead was right behind him.

“B’Elanna, we can’t do this anymore,” he said. Her hands stilled for a second at that, and her expression hardened. She looked him in the eyes as she shrugged her coat off, loosening her own jumpsuit so it fell around her waist. Tom studied her exposed upper body, the edges of the plasma whip burns on her shoulders, sets of bruises in various stages of healing. He saw for the first time new burns—from the same plasma whip?—on her left forearm: another reminder of what a tenuous situation this was, and the terrible risk this was for them, especially for her. 

She peeled his jumpsuit off his shoulders, and then she was running her hands through his chest hair, dragging her fingertips along his muscled upper arms. He put his hands on her arms, the cold metal of her armband against his palm. He was going to stop her. He was going to stop this. 

“I need this, Tom,” she said, her voice husky with desperation. “Don’t take this from me.” She pulled his hand away from her arm, guiding his fingertips down below her navel, pressed his fingers into the warmth of her. “I need you,” she added. Lust shot through him, and he groaned, frozen in place. He was so angry with her right now. He was angry that she wasn’t listening to him, and that she could care so little about the consequences of sex. And he was angry at himself, for wanting what he wanted, for needing to be inside of her again. He desperately wanted this to happen again, and he wouldn’t stop it.

She pressed his fingers lower, guiding them inside of her, and he groaned even more loudly. She was kissing him, nipping at his bearded cheeks. She pulled him close, leading him with her toward the bunk on the other side of the room.

Afterward they lay together naked in the lower bunk, B’Elanna’s head snuggled in against Tom’s chest. Their breathing was finally slowing, their bodies spent, and the haze of hormones and oxytocin was starting to dissipate. Tom’s frustration was resurfacing now that his arousal had abated.

“B’Elanna, we really need to talk about this,” he said. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Tom,” she said, pulling herself away from him. She was up on her elbows now, staring at him. Her hair was a mess, her bruised chest and breasts still sweaty from their exertions. He felt his heart skip a beat thinking about the risk they were taking.

“Look, I know you’re in bad shape, and I know it’s probably unlikely you could get pregnant right now,” Tom said, trying, and failing, to speak in an even tone. “But we don’t know that you can’t, and this is a risk we really can’t afford to take. It’s just too dangerous.” That pissed her off. 

“Dangerous? Are you _insane_?” She rolled away from him, out of the bunk, violently pulling on her abandoned clothes. “You know what’s fucking dangerous? This fucking place is dangerous. Every day here is dangerous! I’m going to fucking die here, Tom, and you’re worried about me getting _pregnant_?” Disgust blazed in her eyes. 

“B’Elanna, I _am_ worried about you here, and—”

“I won’t be alive long enough to have a fucking baby anyway.”

Tom opened and then closed his mouth. He wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her she was absolutely wrong. But he couldn’t. 

She had her jumpsuit on now, and was moving to her boots and coat. Was she seriously thinking about leaving the safety of the _74656_? Leaving him? He hadn’t even told her about the dermal regenerator yet, hadn’t had a chance to use it on her. She couldn’t go now.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, sitting up. Her eyes blazed.

“Fuck you, Tom. If you’re going to spend your time obsessing about a non-existent pregnancy, you can do it alone. If that’s your priority.” She had her coat on now, and was already headed to the portal.

“B’Elanna, let’s talk about this.”

She stopped at the top of the portal, turning to stare at him. Her words were venomous and cold. “Maybe it would be better if I was pregnant. At least then I wouldn’t die here alone.” 

Those last words cut deep, and he choked down his horror as he watched B’Elanna disappear down the portal ladder. He laid back on his bunk, hand pressed against his face. 

He hadn’t truly understood, had he? He hadn’t seen until now just how desperate she had become, how close to the edge she was living. She wasn’t making decisions based on logic or even emotions anymore. She was making all her decisions, including her decision to have sex with him, based on her certainty that she would soon be dead.


	20. Chapter 20

It was the next day, and Tom was in Avil, having his regular meeting with Chakotay. Tom’s mood was black, and in some strange attempt at self-punishment he hadn’t given himself a _tumen_ all day. He was almost enjoying the sensation of slowly increasing pain. It complemented the tumult of dark emotions inside of him.

“I have something for B’Elanna,” Chakotay said. He grinned as he pulled two circles of silver from his own pocket, hastily sliding them into the jumpsuit pocket on Tom’s hip. Tom slid his hands into his pocket to touch the cool metal.

Armbands. Two of them.

He closed his eyes. If only he had had these yesterday.

Chakotay was ignoring Tom’s silent emotional upheaval and now filling in Tom on the latest happenings of the rebellion. They had located eight more of the _Voyager_ crew, spread through various towns in the southern hemisphere. The resistance movement was growing, plans were being made.

“We need to hit the Nauchans strategically,” Chakotay was saying. “Take out their communications, their police force. We have a small supply of explosives now, but we’re working on more. Once we’ve built up enough of a cache, we’ll coordinate attacks on Nauchan infrastructure. Grab enough of the passenger shuttles to get us all into space and get the hell out of here.”

“What about weapons?” Tom asked.

“We’ve built up a stash—”

“No I mean phasers and photon torpedoes,” Tom said finding some small amusement in interrupting the commander. “Those passenger shuttles aren’t armed. I haven’t seen any armed vessels since we got here. But we need to assume the Nauchan space force has weaponry and that they won’t hesitate to destroy a passenger vessel loaded with insurgent workers.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that? I’m counting on major destruction down here. If we can take out the planet-based police force, and prevent their communication with the space force that should give us enough time to get out of the system before they pursue us.” Tom frowned at this. He had never actually been in one of those passenger vessels, but he was pretty sure they were less maneuverable, slower, and had a smaller range than Chakotay was hoping.

“Okay, and then what?” Tom persisted. “We search the quadrant for _Voyager_ , outrunning the Nauchans and the Kordaien in those little passenger shuttles?” 

“Do you have a better idea, Lieutenant?” Chakotay was openly glaring at him. 

Yeah. Turn right around with these armbands and head back to Retener and get B’Elanna the hell out of there today. Steal a spacefaring vessel and sneak off, just the two of them. Something small enough and maneuverable enough to get through whatever offenses the Nauchans had. Maybe they could be out of Nauchan space by this time tomorrow.

But Tom couldn’t land at Retener without Tordy pre-arranging the clearance. If he did, alarms would be sounded, the authorities notified. There would be repercussions. He needed to wait for his regular run to Retener if he was going to get B’Elanna out of there without raising suspicions. 

“No, I don’t.” Tom glared back, annoyed by the brief look of victorious satisfaction on Chakotay’s face.

“We need to hit them hard when we go, maybe even try to take down the whole damn space station if we can figure out how. Hell, maybe we don’t get off this planet but at least we take down their system and win our freedom. Look, at least you can get those armbands to B’Elanna now. As soon as she figures out how to deactivate them the workers will have a new advantage. How is she doing, anyway?”

“About the same,” Tom answered, forcing down a sigh. So much he couldn’t tell Chakotay: We started having sex, and we really shouldn’t have even started, and then I ruined everything because I was concerned about a non-existent pregnancy, and she’s probably going to die soon because I didn’t do enough to get her out of there. 

Yeah. That would go over real well. 

“Good. Hopefully next time I see you you’ll be dropping off B’Elanna,” Chakotay said, a small smile at the edge of his lips. The triple buzz sounded above them, and Chakotay took his leave with a nod. 

Tom stood there for a few moments, frowning with distaste at Chakotay’s last comment: handing B’Elanna over to the resistance as if she were some sort of tool or weapon. That’s just how the Nauchans thought of her too, wasn’t it? Chakotay was right, though. Of course she should be here in Avil, helping with the resistance. They needed her, they needed her expertise, and she needed this kind of work. It didn’t matter what Tom wanted. Despite his feelings for her he had no more claim to B’Elanna than anyone else on this planet. 

Tom had returned to his living quarters in the _74656_ , locking the portal behind him, and immediately pulling the armbands from his pocket. Two armbands. Too bad it had taken so long. They were much smaller than Tom had pictured and looked more like bracelets than something that would fit on a person’s upper arm. One of them had flecks of green on it, but when Tom tried to wipe the pulpy material away he realized, to his horror, that it was decaying flesh. Tom shuddered. He probably didn’t want to know the story behind these.

Tom wrapped the armbands carefully in a length of napkin—they seemed to call for some sort of ritual—and he hid them away along with the extra tools. Thirteen days and everything would change. In thirteen days, B’Elanna wouldn’t be mad anymore. He would apologize. He would do whatever it took to get her back in the _74656_ , and he would get her out of there, and that was all that mattered. Whatever was going between the two of them could be figured out later.

He arrived at Neefa Swain’s compound the next morning and went straight to the administrative building to hand over his completed forms and get the next route information from Tordy. But for the first time in Tom’s memory, Tordy was not at his place behind the small desk in the big room. 

“Tom! Come in!” The door to Neefa Swain’s office was open, and Neefa Swain was gesturing at Tom from behind his big desk. A _fluordin_ hung from his lips. Tordy, looking ill-at-ease, sat in a chair opposite Neefa Swain. He didn’t look up as Tom came in. “Sit, Tom Pilot! I have happy news for us all!”

Tom sat in the chair next to Tordy, nervously wiping his sweaty hands on his jumpsuit.

“We have new business on Tilnauch-Alpha, Tom Pilot! And that means a new ship and a new route for you!” Neefa Swain pulled the cigarette out of his mouth so he could beam at Tom as he delivered this news. Tom perked up at this. Regular runs to the space station in a new ship? Well this was a promising development. 

“That’s great news,” Tom said. “Congratulations on the new business.” Neefa Swain beamed even wider, then stuffed the _fluordin_ back into his wide mouth, inhaling deeply. He turned his PADD around and slid it across the desk to Tom. It displayed the schematics for a very large spacefaring cargo vessel. Tom scrolled through the pertinent data. The specs wouldn’t have impressed him a year ago, but after so many days piloting a clunky old cargo vessel he was easily dazzled by the maneuverability and power on this thing.

“Great! When do I start?” Tom looked to Neefa Swain as he said it, but Neefa Swain gestured expansively at Tordy, and turned his chair to the side, reclining awkwardly. 

“Let us discuss the particulars at my desk, Tom Pilot,” Tordy said, plucking the PADD from Tom’s hands and placing it reverently back on Neefa Swain’s desk. Tordy seemed flustered, even more so than usual. “There is no reason to bother Neefa Swain with the details of scheduling. Perhaps you should thank Neefa Swain for this wonderful opportunity?” Tordy looked at him very pointedly, and stood as he said it.

“Uh, yes,” Tom sputtered. “Thank you, Neefa Swain. For this opportunity.” Neefa Swain made a half-hearted gesture in response to that, sucking greedily on the _fluordin_ and closing his eyes. Tordy shut the door behind Tom as he ushered the pilot out of Neefa Swain’s office. Tom followed him to his desk. 

“The new vessel will be delivered tomorrow morning,” Tordy said. “You will have a day to familiarize yourself with it, and then you will begin the Tilnauch-Alpha run. It is a four day run cycle: you will receive cargo in three cities, and then fly to Tilnauch-Alpha for delivery of your cargo and back here in the same day. A half-day for resupply and you start again.” He stopped pushing PADDs around his desk so that he could glare at Tom more fully. “This is important business for Neefa Swain Corporation. We have never done business with Tilnauch-Alpha before.”

Tom was already calculating in his head. “Okay, so three cycles of the Tilnauch-Alpha route, and by then it’ll be time for the Retener run.”

Tordy shook his head. “There is no more Retener business. All of our existing contracts on the planet have been suspended until we can acquire another pilot and another vessel. The Tilnauch-Alpha business is the only active business Neefa Swain Corporation has at the moment.” Tom felt his lungs deflate. 

“Tordy, I have to go to Retener.” Tom’s jaw was tight, and his hands clenched into fists. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when he was so close to getting B’Elanna out. 

“No. You will not be going to Retener again,” Tordy said.

“Tordy!” Tom slammed his fists on the desk, harder than he intended. Tordy jumped. Tom lowered his voice to an intense whisper, mindful that Neefa Swain was just behind that closed door. “Tordy, I can’t just leave my friend there.”

“I should not have allowed you to continue this fraternization. I should have done whatever I could to lose that business, to keep you from temptation. I had thought your crewmate would be dead by now, and your lesson would already be learned.”

Tom exhaled forcefully at Tordy’s words. This fear—that B’Elanna would die at Retener— had been tumbling through his mind unspoken for months and now both Tordy and B’Elanna had thrown it in his face in the space of a few days. 

“She’s not dead.” Tom was defiant. “I can still save her. Didn’t you want to save them too, your people at Retener?”

“There was nothing to be done about it,” Tordy hissed at him. Tom took a deep breath before responding. 

“Tordy, I am sorry that your people are dead. But my people aren’t. We can change things here on Tilnauch for everyone, but I need to get to Retener as soon as—”

“No.”

“Tordy this isn’t about your past! It’s about the future!”

“You are correct, Tom Pilot,” Tordy seethed. “And I am protecting the future: yours and mine. Although I am beginning to wonder if it is worthwhile for me to protect someone who is so bent on destroying his career here on Tilnauch.” Tordy very deliberately pushed another PADD across the table to Tom. “The specs for the new vessel, and protocols on Tilnauch-Alpha. I suggest you study up.”

“Tordy…”

“No,” Tordy snapped. “One more word about Retener from you and I go straight to Neefa Swain with all of this. You will be punished, and let me assure you Neefa Swain will be more than happy to extract your friend’s name and description from you so that the guards at Retener can punish her as well.”

Tordy knew just what to say to get Tom to shut up, didn’t he? Tom looked at the Talaxian carefully, wanting to call the man’s bluff. If Tordy had wanted to report him he could have done it ages ago, should have done it ages ago. What was stopping him?

But Tom couldn’t risk it. He would have to find another way. He carefully picked up the PADD from Tordy’s desk and stalked to the door. He allowed it to slam hard behind him as he left. He hoped the sound was loud enough to make Neefa Swain startle, and maybe drop his precious _fluordin_. 


	21. Chapter 21

Five days later Tom directed his brand new cargo vessel up and away from the dusty copper hues of Tilnauch, past the clouds, the stratosphere, the thermosphere. For the first time in over one hundred days, Tom Paris was back in space. The last time he had been planetside this long had been Auckland. Funny to think of the parallels there.

He had named his new ship the _48315_ , a nod to _Voyager_ ’s launch date. Tordy had approved, eight and three being particularly auspicious numbers on Tilnauch. It had taken Tom less than a day to gain mastery of the _48315_ , and he was pleasantly surprised by her capabilities. She was much, much larger than the _74656_ , with increased engine power to match, and exceptionally smooth landing abilities. She was brand new, untouched, still had that new ship smell. 

Like the _74656_ , her entire bottom half was a cargo hold, but six times the size of her predecessor’s. There was a cockpit and large living area above, accessed by a compact set of stairs rather than a ladder. In the living area a round, bright yellow table with curved booth seating fed into an expanded kitchen area with more cupboards than Tom knew what to do with. There were two separate bedrooms, each with a bunk bed and a small desk area, four beds in all. The cockpit was much larger too, with seating for four, and separated from the living area by a translucent sliding door. 

The space felt cavernous to Tom, empty and sterile. He missed the table in the _74656_ , the memories of sitting across from B’Elanna, watching her tense with concentration. He couldn’t picture her at this new yellow table, couldn’t quite conjure up the memories of their evening conversations.

Instead he had sat by himself at that yellow table every night for the past four nights, armband in one hand, a parade of tools in the other, resonators and scanners and wrenches spread out before him. If Tordy wouldn’t send him back to Retener then he would go himself, somehow, but the first step was to hack his own armband. Tom didn’t have an engineer’s mind like B’Elanna, although he considered himself knowledgeable when it came to technology. But this tech was slick, complicated, and unlike anything he had seen before. He spent hours just trying to activate the damn things so he could start hacking them. And he never succeeded. He really needed a medical tricorder.

“Cargo vessel _48315_ , you are cleared to dock in bay twenty-three.” The gruff voice came in clearly over the comm. Of course the comm system on this new ship was unaltered; Tom was no longer able to contact Chakotay, or listen in on the chatter from the rest of the worker population. He hadn’t even realized it until he was halfway to Delnu on that very first day and couldn’t tune into the worker channel. He had no way to inform Chakotay about the changes in his work schedule. He no longer had a copy of B’Elanna’s instructions, and could not remember how she had done it the first time. He would have to start asking around in his new ports, see if the workers there had been passing that knowledge around. 

“Acknowledged Tilnauch-Alpha,” Tom spoke into the comm. Tilnauch-Alpha rose before him on the viewscreen, bay twenty-three visible on the curve of the space station. He was weirdly anxious about returning to Tilnauch-Alpha. He no longer spent much time thinking about those early days in Worker Intake, but now that he was preparing to step foot on the space station again the pain and isolation in that little white cell was looming large. 

Tordy had explained that although the space station appeared to form a single halo, it was actually two separate rings. Nauchans on the space station preferred to be as segregated as possible from the worker population: so the masters lived in the southern ring while their slaves kept to the northern one. Tordy had also explained that Tom should expect to interact only with other workers while he was on Tilnauch-Alpha. Nauchans on the space station did not deign to do things like fill out forms, or order around gangs of workers to unload cargo, or even manage space traffic control. Apparently only planetside Nauchans lowered themselves to performing such tasks. 

And yet Tom was still surprised when he walked out of the _48315_ and there was not a single Nauchan guard in sight. Instead a large alien worker wearing a shiny silver uniform with a white collar approached Tom. 

“Welcome to Tilnauch-Alpha. May I see your forms?” This worker leader began scrolling through Tom’s PADD, making notations, while Tom waited. It was a familiar scenario, he had played it out almost daily down on Tilnauch, but Tom felt strangely apprehensive now. Something was wrong here. 

It took him a few minutes to realize what was causing his disquiet: the workers were talking, chatting easily with each other as they waited for the forms to be approved. It was something he had never seen on Tilnauch, workers openly speaking to each other like this. He tried not to stare as he considered the opportunity this presented. 

Forms were completed, the lead worker called to the gang, and they started the unloading process. Another marvel: the workers moved quickly and smoothly, unhampered by pain. Even in places like Avil, where workers were treated quite well, Tom always noticed the hunches, the grimaces, the right arms gripped tightly against the body. These space station workers had none of those signs. They must be pain-free. 

Tom worked in silence beside them, listening to their chatter. It was mostly idle gossip. He caught one discussion about the food currently being served in the worker cafeteria, and a short green woman was complaining about her new bunkmate. Not unlike the conversations one might overhear in the corridors of Starfleet Academy. Tom smiled as he worked for a few more minutes, waiting for the right moment.

“I’m looking for the _Voyager_ crew,” Tom said in a low voice to the Sikarian male to his right. “Do you know of any workers here from the _Voyager_ crew?” The Sikarian slowed his work, and glared suspiciously at Tom.

“ _Voyager_? What do you want with _Voyager_?” the man said loudly. Suddenly the easy conversations that had been playing out around Tom stopped, and all eyes turned toward Tom. Shit. Had he miscalculated?

“I came here on a ship called _Voyager_ ,” Tom said. “I’m just looking for the rest of the crew, my friends.” The workers were now utterly silent, had all stopped their work, and were standing and staring at Tom. The lead worker stepped forward from behind the container he had been handling.

“You are from the _Voyager_ crew?” he asked, studying Tom.

“Yes. I was the chief helmsman on _Voyager_.”

“And who are you looking for? From _Voyager_?” the lead worker asked. This was not at all how Tom had been expecting this conversation to go. Their suspicion, and this line of questioning, was making him nervous. 

“Well, I’m looking for our captain, her name is Kathryn Janeway,” Tom said carefully. The workers didn’t react to that. “And Harry Kim, who was...” He didn’t finish the sentence; a murmur of recognition and excitement raced through the group.

“Kl’in!” the lead workers called to a tall Kazon woman. “Please take this man. We will finish the work here.”

“Take me where?”

“To Harry Kim, of course.” The lead worker looked at Tom like he was dumb.

The Kazon woman motioned at him and then started toward the door. Tom followed, his mind reeling. Harry! Harry was here and all these workers knew who he was and Tom was going to _see_ him. This was unreal. Had Harry been here the whole time?

He stepped into the corridor right behind the Kazon woman.  It was bustling with workers of various shapes and sizes, all in shiny silver jumpsuits with various colors on their collars. The dull roar of shuffling feet and conversations was almost overwhelming to him who had grown so accustomed to the dusty silence of the planet. There were so many workers here, all moving smoothly and without pain. If it weren’t for the frequent flashes of silver armbands against the many colors of skin, he might even forget that this was a hallway filled with slaves.

Tom quickly became lost as he struggled to follow his escort through what seemed to be endless corridors, but eventually she slowed, and lead him into a large, low-ceilinged room. The space was filled with enormous metal structures, and Tom detected a constant vibrating hum. It was a forest of computer cores, and the Kazon woman was leading him to a far corner. There was a small cubicle there, and a young human man with black hair sitting at a computer console. Tom couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He started laughing.

Harry turned, and the look of shock on his face quickly turned to joy.

“Tom! I can’t believe it!” Harry stood from his chair, embracing Tom as they met at the cubicle entrance. Tom was still laughing as he pulled his friend in closer. Yesterday he had been standing on a landing pad, wiping dust from his hands, looking up at the space station, wondering what it was going to be like to be back in space. And now he was here, with Harry. In this moment Tom felt closer to _Voyager_ , closer to home, than he had in ages. 

“Where have you been?” Harry pulled away from their embrace first, and looked his friend up and down, apparently making note of the dust clinging to Tom’s jumpsuit. “Have you been planetside this whole time? What’s with the beard? Is this your first time on Tilnauch-Alpha? You look like hell!”

“Harry, you haven’t changed at all, have you?” Tom laughed, rubbing his beard. And indeed Harry hadn’t changed. He looked exactly as well-fed and pain-free as he had been back on _Voyager_. Even his hair was neatly trimmed, still regulation.

“I have so much to tell you!” Harry exclaimed, pulling Tom into the small cubicle indicating that he should sit in the second chair.

Harry  had indeed been on Tilnauch-Alpha this whole time. He had been purchased by the Tilnauch-Alpha Corporation only a few days after receiving the armband in Worker Intake, and had been assigned to manage the computer systems on Tilnauch-Alpha. Much like Tom, Harry had done his best in those early days to be a model worker. Unlike Tom, Harry had never been alone. Nearly half the _Voyager_ crew—seventy-six of them, to be exact—were here on Tilnauch-Alpha. Carey was here, Kes was here, and Harren and Chapman. Although spread across various departments they had formed a loyal cohort from day one. As the only member of the _Voyager_ senior staff on the space station, Harry had become their de facto leader, with Joe Carey serving as his second.

Harry’s diligent work upgrading the computer cores had gotten him noticed by his Nauchan masters. He was given more responsibilities, and handed even more access to the computer systems on Tilnauch-Alpha. His leadership position within the _Voyager_ crew had caught the attention of the other leaders of various factions of workers. They had eventually approached Harry, and brought him in on their own resistance efforts.

Those same resistance leaders had told Harry the long history of the Nauchan slave system, and Harry related that to Tom now. The planet Tilnauch had always been rich in energy resources, and the Nauchans had modernized and advanced their technology at a much faster rate than any other species in the nearby sectors. The Nauchans were simply lucky to live on such a rich planet, but they attributed their technological success to the superiority of their species. 

The construction of Tilnauch-Alpha had been the turning point for their society. The Nauchans needed workers in order to manufacture the massive space station, and realized quickly that capturing Emil and Kordaien from the neighboring systems was an easy way to acquire free labor. This was before the armband technology had been developed, and the Nauchans spent a great deal of time and energy quashing resistance movements and battling the Emil and Kordaien who would sometimes attempt to rescue their people. After years of war and enslavement, the three societies had agreed to a new working relationship: the Kordaien and Emil would bring regular shipments of new alien slaves to the Nauchans in exchange for their own people’s freedom from slavery. The armband technology was introduced not long after that, and thus the massive system of slavery was perfected. 

“How long has this been going on?” Tom asked.

“As long as anyone can remember. I know Tilnauch-Alpha has been in operation for over three-hundred years now.”

“But the armbands… you don’t seem to be in any pain.”

“Pain? No, why would I be in pain?” Harry looked confused by Tom’s question. “I’m not being punished for anything. I haven’t had a problem with the armband since Worker Intake.” Now Tom was confused.

“On the planet almost all the workers are in some level of pain all the time,” Tom explained. “I’m getting the idea it’s not like that up here?”

“No, how would I be able to work if I were in pain all the time?” Harry said. Tom frowned, thinking about B’Elanna as she struggled through her pain every day. Harry had no idea what it was like. “That’s interesting information, though,” Harry was still talking. “The Nauchans on Tilnauch-Alpha definitely consider themselves superior to the ones who live on the planet. They talk about the planetside Nauchans like they’re simpletons. There’s definitely some sort of cultural—”

“I appreciate the lesson in Nauchan culture, Harry, but can we move this along?” Tom was both impatient with Harry’s naivete and also extremely aware that he was due to depart Tilnauch-Alpha in less than an hour, and would need to get back to the _48315_ well before that. 

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Harry said, launching back into his story. 

The resistance workers here had been slowly working for years to develop computer viruses that would hobble the major systems on Tilnauch-Alpha. Once they had been brought in on the project, Harry and his team from _Voyager_ had worked around the clock rewriting and improving the viruses. It hadn’t taken them long, and the viruses were nearly ready to be deployed. 

“There are a few problems with the plan, though.” Harry tapped his own silver armband.

“The armbands.” Tom was grim. It always came down to the armbands. 

Harry nodded. “We have no way to hack the armband technology, and without the _tumen_ … well I’ve heard it’s not a great outcome.”

“Well—”

“The other obstacle,” Harry continued, not noticing he had interrupted Tom, “is that we haven’t figured out a way to take down the planetside police force, and as soon as Tilnauch-Alpha goes down they’ll send their forces up…” Harry brightened. “But now you’re here! Do you have access to any networked—”

“Harry, wait.” Tom put up his hand, stopping his enthusiastic friend. “I think you’re going to like what I have to tell you.” Now it was Tom’s turn to fill Harry in. He shared with him the details of Chakotay’s resistance activities, the explosives and the weapons. Harry’s eyes grew bright with excitement.

“Tom! This is great news! If you’re going back to the planet you can help us coordinate our efforts, take down the station and the planet at the same time. This could really work!” Tom hesitated. Harry was way to enthusiastic about this half-baked plan, and Tom hadn’t even had a chance to explain to Harry that he currently had no way of getting in touch with Chakotay.

“Hold on, Harry. How are you going to get the rest of the crew off the planet? And how exactly are we getting off the space station? Are you...” He trailed off when he saw Harry’s amused grin. “What? What are you about to tell me?”

“I guess I forgot to mention it, didn’t I?” Harry was beaming. “ _Voyager_ is here. Well, okay, she’s not here right now, but she stops in regularly. The Kordaien use her for capturing and delivering new workers so she comes and goes regularly.”

“You’re kidding me,” Tom said. He couldn’t believe it. Seventy-six members of the crew had been up here the entire time. And _Voyager_ too. Here, in the sky above him, in the sky above Retener.

“I’m not kidding! I can even access her systems when she’s been docked. I started planting viruses in the main computer. If we can time everything just right we can lock the Kordaien out of _Voyager_ ’s systems while she’s docked, retake her—”

“You need weapons for retaking _Voyager_ ,” Tom pointed out. “As I recall, the Kordaien have some nasty weapons of their own.”

“I know, I know,” Harry agreed. “I told you there were a lot of obstacles.”

“Let’s back up,” Tom said. “About the armbands. B’Elanna thought she could—”

“B’Elanna? You know where B’Elanna is?”

“Yeah, and—” 

“B’Elanna is the key! If we could just get her up here somehow!” Harry interrupted, somehow looking even more excited than before. Tom frowned at his friend who seemed to have an awful lot in common with Chakotay now. He knew Chakotay and Harry were both good friends to B’Elanna, but right now they seemed more like junior engineers fighting over the last hyperspanner. 

Harry was bursting with excitement trying to explain to Tom exactly why he needed B’Elanna’s help. A few weeks ago when _Voyager_ had docked and Harry had logged into her systems he had found a surprise hidden in a backup file: the Doctor. 

“He’s right there actually,” Harry gestured at one of the large computer cores, the one nearest him. Harry had downloaded the Doctor’s program and had been trying to restart him, but his efforts had failed so far. Nauchan technology and Federation holoprogramming seemed utterly incompatible. But Harry was certain that there was one person who could figure this out: B’Elanna Torres.

“If anyone can do it, she can,” Harry said. “And if anyone can get these armbands off it’s the Doctor.” His enthusiasm started to wilt. “But how do we get B’Elanna here?”

“I can try to get her here,” Tom said, slowly, thinking. There were so many obstacles still. He didn’t want to make promises that he couldn’t keep, but he could see now how everything was falling into place, the middlegame leading into the endgame. And B’Elanna was the last piece that needed to be moved into the right position. 

“But how? If you try to take her off the planet the armband will kill her.”

“I have some extra armbands now, and a pretty big stash of tools,” Tom said. “I’m hoping B’Elanna can figure out how to deactivate the armbands, break herself out of there, really.”

“You have an extra armband?” Harry was incredulous.

“Yeah. Chakotay and I have been working to get her out for a while now, but I didn’t get the armbands until…” He paused. Until it was too late. But maybe it wasn’t too late. “Harry, I’m already late getting back to my ship, but I should be back in four days. I’ll try to bring B’Elanna with me. But before I go can you give me a list of the people who are here and I’ll add it to my own? We need to figure out who is still missing before we try to break out of here.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said, pulling a slick new PADD out from a drawer in his desk. 

 “I have sixty-two people accounted for on the planet,” Tom was talking to himself, doing the math in his head. “And Doyle who never made it off _Voyager_. So with seventy-six up here that means we’re missing fifteen people.”

“No, thirteen,” Harry corrected him. “You forgot the captain and Megan.” Tom just stared at Harry. “Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? Captain Janeway and Megan Delaney are on a Nauchan scientific survey ship. They stop here for resupply from time to time.”

“Harry, you are just full of good news.” Tom laughed. Harry smiled broadly.

“You too, Tom. With the rebellion on the planet, and B’Elanna… we might have a real chance of making this work.”

“You know you might actually be right, Harry,” Tom said. He had forgotten how infectious the younger man’s optimism was. “Oh, and one more thing before I go: can I get a medical tricorder somehow?”


	22. Chapter 22

Tom brought the _48315_ down in Neefa Swain’s compound beside the _74656_. He was reminded of the first time he had seen the old cargo vessel, how he had thought her abandoned. She sure looked abandoned now. The whole compound did, in contrast to the clean bustle of Tilnauch-Alpha and its friendly workers. 

He had left the space station only an hour ago. One of Harry’s assistants had escorted Tom back to docking bay twenty-three, where he had been greeted by Joe Carey in a silver jumpsuit with a red collar, medical tricorder in hand. There wasn’t time for a lengthy reunion, but Tom and Joe had smiled and embraced, happy to see each other again. Tom had completed his forms, requested permission to depart, and directed his vessel back into the blood-tinged air of Tilnauch. 

It was early afternoon, but the day had already been full of surprising twists and turns. It wasn’t over yet. 

Tom walked into the administration building, carefully preventing the door from slamming behind him. Tordy didn’t look up. The door to Neefa Swain’s office was wide open, the office empty. Tom went and stood in front of Tordy’s desk, then thought better of it, and sat. He was here as a supplicant, after all. He didn’t want to tower over the Talaxian. 

“Well, it seems you did well on your first run to Tilnauch-Alpha,” Tordy was still peering at his computer console. “Any problems?”

“No, it went well.”

“Good. You have the rest of the day for restock and rest. You are expected in Delnu again tomorrow afternoon.”

Tom swallowed, his heart pounding. He had to do this and it had to happen now.

“Tordy, I need to go to Retener today.”

“No.” Tordy finally looked at Tom. 

“Tordy, I have to go to Retener. I can’t get clearance to land at Retener without your help.” He paused. “I have a weapon in my ship. I was going to bring it with me today, right now. I was going to hold it your head, and make you schedule a trip to Retener for me, so I could get clearance. I planned it all out on my way back from Tilnauch-Alpha. I thought about how I would have to shoot you afterward, so you couldn’t alert Neefa Swain and the authorities.” Tom wished his mouth wasn’t so damn dry right now. “But I think you’ve spent a lot of time with a gun to your head, haven’t you? And I decided I didn’t want to treat you like that, like the Nauchans do. I won’t. So I’m here to ask instead: will you help me, Tordy? Will you schedule me to go to Retener tonight?”

Tordy looked horrified, sick. “Why would I do that? Why would I destroy the safety I have earned for myself here?”

“Are you safe here, Tordy?” Tom leaned in as he asked it. “Do you think Neefa Swain cares about you, beyond your ability to keep his business running and his _fluordin_ stocked? You’re the only one here with a sense of loyalty. And I think you know that.”

“You go to Retener for what? To save your friend? Your friend will be killed the moment her armband crosses the tracking barrier.”

“Maybe,” Tom agreed. He was half-tempted to share the entire plan with Tordy, show Tordy that the balance of power on this planet was about to change, but it was too big a risk. He could risk himself right now, he had to, but he couldn’t risk Harry and Chakotay and all the workers who were depending on them. 

“You are a fool,” Tordy hissed.

“Maybe,” Tom agreed again. “But I have to try. I’m sorry you couldn’t save your people. But you didn’t have someone in a position of power to help you back then. I do have someone who can help me.”

Tordy looked at his desk for a few moments. Neither of them moved. Then he turned, activating his computer console, and typed. Tom couldn’t see the screen, and probably wouldn’t have been able to read it in Talax anyway. It was possible that Tordy was sending a message to the authorities, but Tom had chosen to have faith in his fellow worker, and he forced down his panic. Finally Tordy stopped typing; he looked up at Tom.

“You are due tomorrow afternoon in Delnu, to begin the first part of the Tilnauch-Alpha run,” Tordy said. Tom started to argue, but Tordy continued. “However, you must first go to Retener tonight for a small priority order of power cells. I suggest you leave immediately.”

“Tordy... thank you...”

Tordy wasn’t listening, he had turned and opened the drawer with the _tumen_ in it. He filled a satchel with at least twice as many _tumen_ as Tom would need while he was away, and handed it to Tom. 

“I have done this for you now,” Tordy said. “But I will do no more. I swear it.”

“You’ve given me a chance, Tordy,” Tom said. “That’s all I need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a good opportunity to do a little Q & A with the writer.
> 
>  
> 
> Q. What was your favorite scene to write?
> 
> A. Definitely chapter 19, the one where they fight about the nonexistent pregnancy. I don’t think it’s the best chapter necessarily, but damn it was fun to write. 
> 
>  
> 
> Q. What was the most difficult scene to write? What was the easiest?
> 
> A. The easiest scene to write was probably chapter 2, when they get captured by the Kordaien. I think that’s the only chapter in this whole thing that didn’t go through massive changes in revisions; it’s largely the same as when I first wrote it back in January. The most difficult is definitely the very last scene. In fact, I’m still working on that one. 
> 
>  
> 
> Q. You said that you wrote the P/T scenes to Lady Gaga’s Million Reasons, but I listened to it and I dunno… I don’t think that song really makes sense for this. Please clarify.
> 
> A. I can explain! This thing is written from Tom’s point of view, but Million Reasons is B’Elanna’s perspective on things. The lyrics still aren’t a perfect fit, I agree, but I think the feeling works.


	23. Chapter 23

The Nauchan who met Tom at the Retener landing pad that same evening was unimpressed with the _48315_ , and equally unimpressed with Tom’s urgent order for a single container of power cells. He sneered at Tom and shouted at his workers as they rolled the container into the cavernous cargo hold. Tom was happy to be left alone when their transaction had concluded, and even happier to hear the triple buzz of the dinner bell here in Retener. He didn’t even pretend to sit and work through forms on his PADD. He stood at the end of the gangway, arms crossed, watching the line of workers headed to their evening meal. For the last time, he hoped.

He was worried he wouldn’t see B’Elanna in the line; he hadn’t the last few times, and she had still come to him but now he was off schedule and she wouldn’t be expecting him. But he shouldn’t have worried; he saw her right away. She was walking slowly, head down, clutching one arm against her body. She was a shadow, a grey shade of her former self. Seeing Harry and Joe looking so healthy and normal, being in that clean, beautiful space station again, it made the difference even more tangible.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head. He had expected her to be surprised, maybe even excited or curious, but he saw nothing in her eyes. He nodded at her. She nodded back, blankly.

She disappeared around the corner, and he left the gangway open, climbing the stairs into the living area of the _48315_. He set out food, the armbands, the tools, and the medical tricorder on the big yellow table. And the dermal regenerator so he wouldn’t forget to use it on her this time. He set out two _tumen_ from his now-ample stash, wondered if he should set out a third. She didn’t look good at all. He wondered if she would vomit again. He winced at his memory.

He paced until he finally heard the sound of the door at the bottom of the stairs opening.

“B’Elanna?” he called, taking the stairs down two at a time. It was her. She was slowly working her way up, clutching the handrail. Getting here had taken a lot out of her. He held out a hand to her, and she took it. He supported her as they made their way up the stairs together, leading her to the yellow table. Her eyes were wide at the interior of this new ship, even wider when she saw the armbands laid out in front of her. She looked at him, questioning. 

“ _Tumen_ first,” he said. “Then I’ll explain.” She nodded, gratefully settling into the bench. He administered the first _tumen_. She shuddered, and he started to put his arms around her, but thought better of it. He had to keep control of the situation, and physical contact was the quickest way to lose control. He administered the second _tumen_ , and then the third, and she gripped the table hard as he did, her breath becoming ragged. He sat beside her, ready to pull her toward the lavatory if she needed to vomit again. She coughed several times, batting him away. Her breathing was evening out now. 

“I’m okay.”

Tom waited a few beats for her to stabilize, and then he reached across the table, grabbing the dermal regenerator. He wanted to do this right away, before he forgot again. She narrowed her eyes at it. One of her eyes was bloodshot, and he wondered how that had happened. 

“Dermal regenerator,” he explained. “May I?” He motioned at her cheek, the abrasions and bruising on her neck, and she turned toward him to allow him access. He activated the regenerator, carefully running it across her skin, gratified to see the healing taking place beneath the regenerator’s pale green light. He carefully made his way from wound to scar to wound, nodding to himself with satisfaction. It had been so long since he had seen her face like this, unbattered, unbruised. She looked a little more like herself now, although still skinny and weak. But he cringed, knowing what else was beneath her jumpsuit, what still had to be fixed.

“Can I do your back?” he asked, trying to keep his tone professional. She looked at him strangely, but shrugged off her coat, turning away to unfasten her jumpsuit. He closed his eyes for a second, reminding himself: he was her medic now, her friend, her colleague. Not her lover. When he opened his eyes her back was exposed to him, and he groaned involuntarily when he saw that the sea of semi-healed burns had been joined by a new set of plasma burns. B’Elanna said nothing as he set to work with the dermal regenerator.

Burns were particularly tricky to heal. He worked carefully, moving the regenerator slowly from the periphery of her body to the center, just like he had been taught. He still didn’t touch her. They were silent together, until B’Elanna started to reach for something on the table, and he had to remind her to be still for just a few more minutes.

“Where did you get the armbands?” she asked.

“Chakotay finally came through,” Tom said. And then he told her everything while he worked: his new route assignment and new ship, his trip to the space station, seeing Harry. 

“Harry’s been on the space station this whole time?” B’Elanna had turned her head enough that Tom could see her eyes were wide with surprise. 

“Harry and seventy-five others including Carey, Chapman, Kes…” Tom kept working at the burns while he filled her in on Harry’s side of things: the computer viruses, _Voyager_ , the captain, the Doctor. He finally turned off the dermal regenerator. It was hot to the touch, probably about to burn out from overuse. But B’Elanna’s back was mostly smooth again. He noticed a pair of moles on her shoulder blade for the first time. 

“Done,” he said, softly. 

She straightened her back, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her neck. She breathed in deeply. “Thanks.”

Tom stood up and went to the kitchen to put away the dermal regenerator. She was refastening her jumpsuit, and he caught a glimpse of the bruising and gashes on her chest. He frowned. Those would have to wait; the regenerator was nearly burnt out.

“When Harry was trying to activate the Doctor, did he try a crawler program to manipulate the Doctor’s restoration algorithms?” she asked as she picked up the medical tricorder in her right hand, and one of the armbands in her left.

“He didn’t say,” Tom answered, smiling at how very much like herself she seemed now. She didn’t seem to hear his response or notice his smile; she was already examining the readout on the medical tricorder as she held the armband, the one with the bits of green skin attached, in front of it. 

Tom took his place across the table from her, using this time to finally transfer the names from Harry’s PADD to his own manifest document. Except for the sound of tools being picked up and put down the room was quiet. From time to time B’Elanna swore to herself or got up and paced around the living space. She silently stared at the armband in her hands for minutes at a time. 

Tom was nervous, but trying not to broadcast that to her. He was concerned for B’Elanna’s safety, of course, but also Tordy’s. If they couldn’t get out of here as soon as flight control opened tomorrow morning, if they were late to Delnu, there may be consequences for the Talaxian. If this plan was going to work it needed to work fast. 

It seemed like things weren’t going well, and Tom grew more and more uneasy as B’Elanna increased the frequency of her pacing and swearing. 

“Can I help?” he offered, knowing full well that he probably couldn’t.

“This tech is just… I’ve never seen anything like it before. I don’t even know how to approach…” she trailed off, staring blankly at the wall behind him. Tom hoped this was a sign that another B’Elanna Torres Original Idea had just clicked into place. He smiled and went back to his PADD. 

Tom finished updating his manifest. 141 names, thirteen missing. Everything was so close now. They were standing on a precipice, and they were either going to succeed brilliantly or fail dramatically. And tonight, getting B’Elanna out of Retener, this was the crucial first move in the endgame. 

He looked up. She was still working away on the armband, but hadn’t done any pacing or swearing in almost an hour. He checked his chronometer. They were only a two hours away from morning. He switched his PADD over to the map program, spent some time examining his route to see if he could shave some minutes off the trip to Delnu. He checked his chronometer again: only one hour until morning now. 

All of a sudden B’Elanna set down her tools so hard Tom startled.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously. 

“It’s working.”

“You figured out how to hack it?”

“No, I figured out how to mirror it.”

“What?”

She hadn’t been able to deactivate the armband, she explained, and hadn’t made any progress at all in those first couple hours. But then she had changed tactics, working to make one of the extra armbands send out the same signal her own armband was sending. If she couldn’t turn off her own armband, maybe she could at least fool the tracking system into thinking she was still where she was supposed to be. But it was a shot in the dark, a guess; she wasn’t completely sure how the tracking system even worked, and if this was enough to subvert it.

“So there’s a possibility that when we fly out of here…” Tom was frowning. 

“The armband still kills me,” she finished for him. They stared at each other across the table. B’Elanna’s face was blank. Tom felt his chest tightening up. 

They walked down the compact stairs of the _48315_ together, B’Elanna moving easily down the stairs this time, leading Tom. The gangway had been open all night. Light was beginning to streak across the sky. 

“You do it,” B’Elanna whispered. “Hide it where they won’t find it.” It wouldn’t be safe for her to be seen on the landing pad now, not in the morning light. She held herself back in the shadows of the cargo bay, and handed him the mirrored armband.

He nodded, took the armband, went out onto the landing pad, acting like he was starting his morning inspections on his vessel. There was a small outbuilding beside the landing pad, and he used his boot to make a shallow hole behind it. He dropped the armband in and covered it. B’Elanna was still waiting in the shadows when he returned.

“Done. I buried it,” he said.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

With B’Elanna’s efficient assistance they completed preflight before flight control opened, and then they sat in the cockpit together, waiting to acquire clearance to depart. 

“Tom…” B’Elanna started, then stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t turn around.” B’Elanna choked the words out, not looking at him. 

“What?”

“Don’t go back to Retener. Don’t bring me back. If this doesn’t work.”

Tom felt his throat constrict. “B’Elanna, you’ll—”

“I mean it. Don’t bring me back. Please.” She finally turned to look at him, eyes dark with certainty. She knew what she was asking him to do. Tom was frozen, unable to respond.

Better here than there. Better with him than alone. 

Tom nodded. She nodded back.

Flight control had opened, and Tom requested clearance to take off, every word catching in his constricted throat. The tension in the cockpit was almost unbearable as the _48315_ lifted off the ground, departing much more slowly than normal. Tom’s eyes were on B’Elanna, watching her for signs that the mirroring hadn’t worked, hoping he wouldn’t have to do this impossible thing and keep flying away from Retener. Knowing that he would do this impossible thing if he had to.

Her hands gripped the console in front of her, her body tense. The minutes passed, the orange landscape of Tilnauch unfolded below them, and at some point Tom started breathing again. He checked his instruments, and then he checked B’Elanna. She wasn’t gripping the console anymore. She turned to him and he saw surprise in her eyes. Relief poured over him, his body finally relaxing. He wasn’t leaving her behind this time. He could barely believe it, but they had done it. He grinned at her, expecting her to match his smile, but her face was impassive. 

“How long to… where are we going?” she asked.

“Delnu,” he said. “If we’re really lucky and the prevailing winds cooperate we’ll land right before dinner.”

“Okay, I’m… going to go rest then,” she said, standing and heading aft. He heard the door to one of the bunk rooms open and close, and then the surging hum of the _48315_ ’s powerful engines as he increased their speed. 

Exhaustion suddenly overtook him. The last few days had been tumultuous, and the next few promised to be so as well. He checked his instruments again, activating the autopilot so he could go back and get himself some food and water. He had a long day ahead of him still. 

He stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, staring blankly at the countertop, listening to the muffled sound of B’Elanna crying in one of the bunkrooms. 


	24. Chapter 24

They were two minutes late landing at Delnu that evening, and Tom cringed to think of Tordy’s reaction to that data. Hopefully it wasn’t late enough to warrant any sort of violent backlash from Neefa Swain. 

Tom had left the ship while B’Elanna was still in the bunkroom—she had stopped crying quickly and he assumed she was now sleeping—and had gone out to deal with the cargo loading before night fell. When he returned nearly two hours later he found her at the yellow table with her tools spread out again, picking away at the second armband. She was wearing her same grey jumpsuit from Retener, but it looked like she had washed it, and she had definitely used the shower while he had been gone. There was a bit of color in her cheeks again, and an empty bowl at the table in front of her. He went to the kitchen, drank deeply from the water fountain there, and grabbed a few biscuit things to munch on. B’Elanna was so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t acknowledged his entrance, and didn’t seem to notice him staring at her. 

He had been so worried about getting her out of Retener and getting to Delnu on time that he hadn’t stopped to consider the state of their relationship. The sex had been a mistake, he was certain of that now, but they had shared a hundred other friendly intimacies before that. Were those moments, that friendship, also invalidated due to extenuating circumstances? He wasn’t sure how to approach her now.

“Hey,” he said, definitely sounding a little too casual. “What are you working on?” She startled at the sound of his voice; she really had been completely oblivious to his presence. 

“Just testing some things out.” Her voice had a forced friendliness to it. She had taken a few parts out of the armband and had carefully laid them to the side in some particular configuration. She kept putting down one tool and picking up another, then putting down that one and trying another. He watched her for a few more minutes, but she didn’t offer up any further information on her project. 

“When you have a chance, we need to hack the comm system in this thing so we can contact Chakotay,” Tom said to her. “I haven’t been able to pass on Harry’s plans to him. And we need to tell him you’re free.”

“When I finish with this,” B’Elanna responded, still not looking at Tom.

“We really need to get in touch with Chakotay before we head to Tilnauch-Alpha in two days.” His inability to contact Chakotay had been causing him no small amount of stress, and he was anxious to get the comm system hacked as soon as possible.

“I said I’ll get to it,” she snapped.

Well. At least she was more like her old self. Her reaction wasn’t atypical for B’Elanna, but her irritated tone felt like a punch to his gut. Weren’t they past that now? She hadn’t snapped at him like that in a long time, even back on _Voyager_. He had already been demoted from lover to friend, but was he now bumped down even further, to annoying colleague?

Maybe there wasn’t a relationship to talk about. Maybe she had just told him all he needed to know. 

His right arm was tingling, his reminder that he was due for his evening _tumen_ , so he pulled one out of the drawer and administered it to himself. He noticed B’Elanna’s eyes on him and he pulled out a second _tumen_.

“Do you need one?” he asked. “I keep them right here. Take what you need when you need it.”

“Do you have enough? I don’t want…” She trailed off. 

“I have plenty now, more than enough for both of us.” 

She joined him in the kitchen area and was pulling up her sleeve, but he hesitated. He had always administered them for her, but that was when she was in worse shape. And back before he had instituted strict protocols for himself regarding physical contact. B’Elanna was fine now; she should do it herself. He handed the _tumen_ to her, and caught the look of confusion on her face. She fumbled with it at first, and Tom was reminded of his own first time administering his own _tumen_ in front of Tordy. 

“It’s easier if you put your thumb… yeah right there, you got it,” he said. She activated the _tumen_ , closed her eyes for a second, then laughed very quietly.

“That’s much easier when the pain level is already low,” she commented. 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. 

They stood in the kitchen together in awkward silence for a few moments, very little space between them. She was so close, and Tom wanted so badly to embrace her and feel her body against his and revel together in the fact that she was alive and out of Retener.

 “You look tired,” B’Elanna finally said, taking a step backward. Strategic retreat. 

“I am,” Tom agreed. “I’m going to turn in.” 

He still felt like a fool for not understanding sooner: Intimacy born from desperation was not real intimacy. And she was clearly not seeking that intimacy from him now. She was distant, almost cordial. Now that she was back to herself, now that she wasn’t desperate and dying, she had made the new terms of their relationship quite clear. 

Tom didn’t even bother to undress before he collapsed into his bunk. In the few seconds before he fell asleep he could hear the muffled sound of tools being moved around on the yellow table in the main room.

Tom was very surprised the next morning to find B’Elanna had claimed the top bunk in his room. She was curled up in the clean sheets, her back to him, her breathing light and even. He stood there and watched her sleep for a few moments, confused by this development, but enjoying the tranquility of the scene. There was another bunkroom, after all, no reason for them to share space anymore. Perhaps she just didn’t want to be alone yet, or had thought it prudent to be close in case of emergency. 

He went out to start preflight for the trip to Pilack where he was due to pick up thirty containers of cargo bound for Tilnauch-Alpha. He had to stay on schedule, keep from raising any suspicions, in order to get B’Elanna up to the space station. He paused in the kitchen to grab a _tumen_ on his way to the cockpit, noting the strange mess of tools and parts that B’Elanna had left on the table. How late had she been up working on this, anyway?

Apparently quite late because he didn’t hear her emerge from the bunkroom until much later that day, right after he landed at Pilack. He came out of the cockpit at nearly the same moment she came out of the bunkroom, bleary-eyed, brushing her hair back with one hand. She blinked at him but said nothing, instead went and sat at the table, reacquainting herself with the mess she had left the night before. 

The silence between them was an overwhelming reminder of what they had lost. 

He tried to put it out of his mind, went out into the blood-tinged air to greet the port master, fill out the forms, and load the cargo. He watched the other workers, wondering if they would be free soon, wondering if he would be free.

When he went back up the stairs and into the living quarters of the _48315_ that night, she was still there at the bright yellow table. She had been busy while he had been gone. The armband had been completely reassembled, but now something else had been taken apart. He struggled to identify which tool she had eviscerated, the parts all unfamiliar.

“It’s a _tumen_ ,” she said, noticing his stare. “Well, actually two.”

“Really?”

“An empty one and a full one. Or more like active and inactive.”

“What does that have to do with mirroring the armbands?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not trying to mirror them anymore. I’m using the _tumen_ to deactivate the armband.”

“You did?”

“No, not yet. Still figuring it out,” she said. She hadn’t stopped her work while they had been talking. She was deep into this, probably hadn’t even stood up in hours, likely hadn’t eaten all day if he had to guess. 

“Did you need something to eat?” Tom asked. “I was going to make a real dinner tonight.”

“You? Cook?” She raised her eyebrows, but there was warmth in her eyes.

“What? I’m a pretty good cook. I’ve even figured out a few tricks with this Nauchan food. Just you wait.” That elicited a small smile from her, and he turned away before she could see the grin blooming on his face.

This was a good sign. Maybe they were going to be able to make it as friends after all. 

Tom stood in the kitchen preparing a stew for them to share, while B’Elanna continued working away at the table. She pushed all the tools and various pieces of technology aside when Tom brought their bowls to the table.

“Oh this is good,” she said at her first bite.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, trying to hide his appreciative smile.

They finished dinner quickly, and Tom cleared the bowls to the kitchen. B’Elanna started moving her armband project back to the center of the table.

“Wait, let me fix you before you start back up on that,” Tom said. She narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. “I mean… the dermal regenerator. It was overheated last time and I had to stop. But I know… I know there’s more to do.” 

Her face darkened at that. “Okay.” 

Tom got the dermal regenerator from the drawer in the kitchen. When he turned around B’Elanna was already starting to pull her jumpsuit down, exposing her chest and upper arms. They both hesitated; how were they going to do this exactly?

Tom sat next to B’Elanna, starting at the wounds around her neck. He worked his way down her chest while she held the jumpsuit against her breasts. When he had finished what he could see he paused. He knew there were bruises and wounds further down. He remembered.

“I can do the rest,” he said, gently. “If you’re okay with that. I’ll be careful.” Sure. Careful not to touch her or think too hard about what they had been doing the last time he had seen her breasts. Or how they were never going to do that again. 

She looked away as she let her hands drop to her lap. Her jumpsuit slid down revealing her breasts, and her prominent rib cage. Tom took a deep breath and began very carefully healing the damage around her breasts, and below. When he finished with that he moved to her exposed shoulders and her arms.

B’Elanna had kept her eyes closed, her face pointed away from him. Tom had been working away just fine, feeling very professional about the whole thing until he looked at her face, the curve of her chin, perfectly formed eyebrows framed by the gentle arch of her ridges. He knew what was behind those ridges: the intelligence, the intensity, the loyalty. There was nobody else he would rather be stuck with here on this damn slave planet in the Delta Quadrant. Nobody who inspired him in quite the same way. 

He could pull her close and kiss her now. They could do it again. Just one more time before he brought her to Tilnauch-Alpha and everything changed.

No. A moment of weakness: that’s what it had always been. She had been vulnerable, he had been weak-willed. She would have never let that happen if they hadn’t been in this situation in the first place, if she had been healthy, if she had been strong. He should have been smart enough to see that in the first place. That was why he always felt slightly uncomfortable with what they had done. He just hadn’t realized it at the time. He sat up a little straighter, pulled away. 

“Done,” he announced, quickly moving away from her to the kitchen to put the regenerator back. She pulled her jumpsuit over her now unbroken skin, and by the time Tom turned back around she had set up her workspace again.

He stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and watched her work for a few moments.

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Do what?” She didn’t look at him as she said it.

“You’re going to figure out how to deactivate the armbands,” he said. “You’re going to be the reason we all get out of here.” Her eyes flicked up at him for just a second. 

“Yeah, I am. And I’m going to take down this whole fucking slave system while I’m at it.” Harry and Chakotay had been right all along, B’Elanna was the key, their decisive advantage against hundreds of years of Nauchan slave culture. 

“Do you need any help?” Tom asked.

“No.” She was terse now. “I’m fine. You don’t have to be here right now.” 

And here they were again, back where they started, emotional barriers and all. All those lines of intimacy previously crossed, and here she was building up the walls around herself again.

Having been dismissed, Tom went to bed. He tossed and turned a bit, trying to quiet the disquiet in his gut. When he woke up, ready for a full day of flying to Toldish, he was surprised to find B’Elanna in the bunk above him again, fast asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Tom was enjoying B’Elanna’s quiet presence in the co-pilot’s seat to his right as he burned the thrusters, pushing the _48315_ up through the atmosphere and back to Tilnauch-Alpha. These would be their last moments alone together before everything changed. 

Yesterday, after a half day of travel to Toldish and a half day of loading cargo, Tom had arrived back in the living quarters of the _48315_ and again found B’Elanna at the table, her hair framing her ridges, hands moving with precision and decisiveness. This time she stood and approached him without a word, _tumen_ in hand. It wasn’t until she had pressed the _tumen_ against his armband and he felt a burning sensation shooting through his bicep that his brain caught up with the situation and he realized something strange was going on. 

“Ow, B’Elanna, what the hell?” he choked out, clawing at his armband with his left hand.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.” She smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Just give it a couple seconds.” Indeed, by the time she finished her sentence the feeling of acid in his nerves had ceased. Tom took a deep breath.

“What was that?” he asked, and she beamed. 

She had figured out how to deactivate the armbands. She had done her own earlier in the day, and now his. The _tumen_ had been the answer all along, the way in. Now their armbands were nothing more than metal digging into their skin, harmless decoration. 

He saw his entire stash of unused _tumen_ laid out on the table, a third of them in a pile on one end, the other two thirds on the other end. One PADD between them. She was reprogramming all the _tumen_ in his stash to deactivate the armbands, and recording the instructions. 

“B’Elanna… this is amazing,” he said. “This changes everything.”

“That’s the idea.” She grinned at him. “Let me finish up this one _tumen_. Then I’ll get your comm system working again and we can call Chakotay.”

Tom made dinner again that night—Nauchan spaghetti, he called it—while she tinkered with his comm system. He heard the chatter coming through on the worker channel as he finished combining the sauces, and by the time he set their plates on the table he could hear Chakotay speaking.

“Good to hear your voice, B’Elanna. Glad to hear those extra armbands made the difference.”

“More than you know,” B’Elanna spoke into the comm. “Do you have a PADD handy? I have instructions for using the _tumen_ to deactivate the armbands and you’ll need to write them down. Everyone who is listening in on this channel should write this down.”

Tom listened in on their conversation as he ate his meal, enjoying the satisfaction in B’Elanna’s voice, Chakotay’s praise. 

“So how did Paris get you out early? When are you due in Avil?” Chakotay asked.

“I think you better talk to Tom about that,” B’Elanna responded. Tom was already on his way to the cockpit, his now-empty bowl of spaghetti left on the table. 

“Chakotay,” Tom spoke into the comm, “I have more good news.”

“Let’s hear it then, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said.

There was too much information to relay efficiently, but Tom did his best to fill Chakotay in on his new route, the space station, Harry, the rest of the crew and the captain, the computer viruses, the need to coordinate efforts between the planet and the space station. They discussed a few more particulars: exactly how much lead time Chakotay and his group would need to organize a strike, how many members of the former _Voyager_ crew they could get transferred to Avil before then. Chakotay was disappointed to hear that B’Elanna would be joining Harry on the space station, but agreed it made the most sense.

It was late by the time Tom signed off with Chakotay, his throat dry and scratchy from so much talking. This life of solitude had apparently rendered his vocal cords more feeble than he thought. B’Elanna was back at the table, still working her way through the pile of _tumen_ , her empty bowl pushed out of her way.

“Chakotay is sure happy,” Tom commented as he cleared the plate.

“He should be,” she replied.

“Another B’Elanna Torres Original Idea saves the day,” Tom quipped. Their mutual victorious amusement formed a bridge between them for a single second. But a shadow crossed her face in the next instant, and Tom felt disappointment rising in him. He excused himself to bed. 

He wasn’t sure how late she had stayed awake working, but she was there again in the top bunk when he woke up that next morning. The light coming through the tiny window made the small bedroom glow orange. He studied her sleeping face for a few moments, and then gently shook her with one palm. She opened her eyes with a start. 

“We’ll be at Tilnauch-Alpha before mid-day,” he told her in a half-whisper. “I thought you might want to get ready.” She had nodded at this, her brown eyes unreadable. 

They had both eaten and showered and B’Elanna had packed the supply of hacked _tumen_ and the instructions for making more in a satchel. The morning of sharing the space, preparing together for their day, felt wonderfully familiar. 

Now the space station was coming up on the viewscreen. B’Elanna had joined him in the cockpit, taking the co-pilot’s chair and drawing her knees up against her body. Tom had assumed she had been watching the space station and starscape, but when he glanced over he saw that she had been watching him instead. 

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” she replied. “It’s just… it’s been nice to see you flying. It makes everything seem more... normal.” Tom nodded at this, turned back to his work. They had been assigned bay nineteen, and he checked the guided overlay, directing the vessel to the appropriate section of Tilnauch-Alpha.

“It’s so weird to be back in space,” B’Elanna commented, more to herself than to Tom. “I can’t believe Harry’s been up here the whole time, right above us.”

Tom wondered for the first time if she was nervous about staying here. He would have to return to Tilnauch later today, keeping up his work for Neefa Swain, helping to disseminate information between Harry and Chakotay for now. At least until _Voyager_ returned to the space station and they could put their plan in motion. But B’Elanna was needed here on Tilnauch-Alpha. She had to stay. 

He stole a glance at her one more time. She was biting her lower lip, her hands on her knees, studying the viewscreen as Tom smoothly brought the _48315_ down in the cargo bay. He remembered what those lips felt like against his, those hands on his lower back, pulling him closer. 

Even without the physical aspect, even with the tricky emotional distance, he had enjoyed these last several days with her. He mourned the end of it all. Today their world would expand beyond just the two of them. He would miss her. 

By the time Tom and B’Elanna stepped out into the cargo bay there was a crowd of workers standing around. Most of them were the cargo workers, chatting amongst themselves in their silver grey jumpsuits, but two familiar faces broke through the crowd to greet them: Harry Kim and Joe Carey. They both grinned widely at B’Elanna, and she grinned back in a way that made Tom just a tiny bit envious. 

“Maquis!” Harry said, embracing B’Elanna. “You look like hell.” Tom’s hackles rose at the offhand comment. Harry had no fucking clue. But B’Elanna had apparently been taking notes from the Tom Paris Book of Humor as Means of Deflection.

“And you’re looking soft, Starfleet,” she said, pulling away from him. Harry tried to glare at her, but nothing could erase the elation from his face. 

Joe gave her a quick hug too. “It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant.” He, at least, seemed disturbed by B’Elanna’s diminished physical appearance, but did not comment on it.

Harry directed the crew of workers to begin unloading, and he, Tom, Joe, and B’Elanna went back up into the living quarters of the _48315_. Carey made a low whistling sound when he saw the living space, and Harry gently ribbed Tom for his gracious living. They settled down together at the bright yellow table to talk. 

Harry had exciting, but problematic news: _Voyager_ was scheduled to return to Tilnauch-Alpha in just two days. Not only that, but the scientific survey ship where Captain Janeway and Megan Delaney worked was scheduled to dock at Tilnauch-Alpha on that exact same day. The timing was perfect.

“Except it doesn’t give Chakotay’s people on the planet much time to prepare,” Harry was saying. “And what’s the status of the armbands? B’Elanna, since you’re here I guess that means you managed to turn off your armband tracking. But what do we do about the pain management aspect?”

Tom was looking at B’Elanna, watching her cross her arms and smirk at Harry across the table. Tom couldn’t help himself, he chuckled.

“What?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Tom. Tom rubbed his beard and looked at B’Elanna.

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell them?” Tom asked her. 

“Tell us what?” Harry demanded.

“I already figured out how to deactivate the armbands,” B’Elanna said. “In fact, let’s do yours now. Tom, will you?” Tom stood and pulled two hacked _tumen_ from the satchel on the kitchen counter. He tossed them at Harry and Joe, who looked confused.

“Go ahead,” B’Elanna encouraged them. “It’s going to sting a little.”

“Oh so you’ll warn them but not me?” Tom said with mock indignation. She shot him a quick smile. 

Joe and Harry both pulled up their sleeves and pressed the _tumen_ against their armbands. Then they both promptly gasped at the strange acid pain shooting through their nerves. It was over in seconds, both men rubbing at their armbands as the burning sensation subsided.

Harry wanted to know how B’Elanna had done it and she explained her process. With a small team of engineers and a supply of _tumen_ she could have hundreds of armbands deactivated by the end of the day. 

“Joe,” Harry turned to Carey, “go assemble a team and find a workspace for us. Spread the word that everyone should hold off on their afternoon _tumen_ , save them for later.”

“Sure thing,” Joe said. He left the living quarters, heading down the stairway still rubbing his armband.

“Okay then, well I guess we don’t even need the Doctor now, at least not until we get back on _Voyager_.” Harry said. “Tom, what’s the status of Chakotay’s team?”

“Ready and waiting,” Tom said, coming back to the table to sit next to B’Elanna. “He said they need about a day of lead time to get everything in place. The major problem is that they haven’t been able to get all of our crew transferred to Avil yet. We’ll end up leaving a lot of our people on the ground. That might be an argument for waiting for the next time _Voyager_ comes through.”

“Captain Janeway is coming in two days too, didn’t you hear that part?” Harry was shaking his head. “Once we get the armbands hacked there’s no reason to wait.” 

Tom leaned back on the bench, crossed his arms. He didn’t like it. “I would think getting everyone out should be our priority,” Tom said. 

“Tom, we don’t really have a way of getting everyone off the planet, even once we do have access to _Voyager_ ’s transporters.” Tom noticed B’Elanna frowning next to him while Harry continued talking. “I don’t like the idea of leaving them either, but right now is our best opportunity for escape. We’ll get _Voyager_ back first, get out of this system, regroup, and then we’ll figure out how to get the rest of the crew off the planet.”

Tom sat up straight, rubbed at his beard. Harry didn’t seem open to debating this particular point. He looked to B’Elanna again but now she was staring blankly at the table, lost in thought. He had expected her to take his side, but it seemed she was just as desperate to get back to _Voyager_ now as Harry was. They couldn’t save everyone. At least not right now. 

The three of them went around debating the timeline for their strike, the best way to get themselves back into _Voyager_ and get the Kordaien out, the best way to get Chakotay and his people onto _Voyager_. Joe returned partway through the conversation, informing Harry that they were already setting up a workshop for reprogramming _tumen_ on a lower deck. The conversation turned to weapons, handhelds and explosives, and then they spent some time debating alternate plans in case something went wrong. The cargo bay was silent, the unloading process having been finished long ago. 

Tom had been checking his chronometer, becoming increasingly anxious as the time ticked by. He was going to be late getting back to Neefa Swain’s. Not only did he need to keep up the appearance of normalcy for the next two days, he needed to ensure that his tardiness didn’t impact Tordy’s safety. 

“Okay,” Harry finally said as they finished debating workaround scenarios. “We have a lot of work to do and less than two days to do it. Let’s get to it.” He stood and headed to the stairwell, Joe following him. Tom got up to let B’Elanna out of the bench. She stood too, but didn’t move to follow Harry. 

“I’ll meet you down there in a second, Harry,” B’Elanna said. She was looking at Tom as she said it; Harry and Joe glanced at each other at the other end of the room.

“No problem,” Harry said, and the two men disappeared into the stairwell, their footsteps echoing quietly as they departed.

“Take this back to the planet for your friend,” B’Elanna handed Tom one of the hacked _tumen_. Tom nodded. “Do you still have that old PADD of yours with the manifest, the list of the crew?”

“Yeah, right here,” he pulled the PADD out of the drawer in the kitchen, and handed it to her. She opened it up, scanning through several of the files silently and then nodded to herself before looking back at him.

“Can I take this with me?”

“Sure,” he said. It had turned out to be a dead end anyway, a useless waste of his energy. She started to walk toward the stairwell, and he realized that this was goodbye. “Stay safe,” he called to her. Their ritual farewell, his invocation. 

“See you soon.” She met his eyes for just a second, radiating determination. But then she turned and disappeared down the stairwell to join Joe and Harry and the rest of the Tilnauch-Alpha resistance movement.

Tom was alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last three chapters will be going up this weekend. Prepare yourselves!


	26. Chapter 26

Tom was late returning to Neefa Swain’s compound that day, arriving in the early evening rather than the late afternoon as scheduled. He had departed Tilnauch-Alpha much later than anticipated, and had also had to swing around closer to Avil on his way back down in order to contact Chakotay over the hacked comm system. Tom had conveyed to him all the details of the plan for tomorrow and the next day. Chakotay was surprisingly relaxed about the accelerated timeline, and assured Tom that they would be ready on his end. They had already made great progress hacking the _tumen_ since receiving the instructions from B’Elanna, most of the _Voyager_ crew in Avil had already deactivated theirs.

Tom was supposed to be in Avil tonight too, but first he had one thing to do. He walked out into the dusty orange sunlight, crossing the compound quickly, a single orange _tumen_ gripped tightly in his hand. The wide line of Tilnauch-Alpha arched above him, waiting. Neefa Swain’s personal shuttle was parked in its usual spot just down from the administration building. Well this was unfortunate; Tom had hoped his mercurial employer would be absent for this discussion. But by this time of day Neefa Swain should be deep into his _fluordin_ , hopefully completely unaware that his pilot was late returning from the space station. 

Tordy looked up at Tom as he entered, raised his bushy eyebrows. The door to Neefa Swain’s office was closed, but the air was tinged with the musty smell of _fluordin_ signaling the Nauchan man’s hidden presence. 

“You are late!” Tordy’s eyes were wide with terror. His voice was a desperate whisper-yell. “It is a lucky thing for you that Neefa Swain has not noticed! This is unacceptable.”

“It won’t happen again,” Tom said, and then he took a deep breath. This was it. He was deep into the endgame now. “I do have a favor to ask, Tordy.”

“No more favors!”

“I need you to get the _48315_ on the schedule to land in Avil this evening, staying for two nights.” His heart was pounding as he tried to keep his voice even. Tordy’s face filled with incredulous rage, arguments storming behind his eyes. “And I have something for you,” Tom continued before Tordy could speak. He placed the hacked _tumen_ on the desk in front of Tordy. Tordy frowned, clearly confused. When Tom explained the nature of this particular _tumen_ to him, Tordy panicked. 

“I do not want this!” Tordy pushed the orange cylinder back across the desk.

“Tordy, I’ve already deactivated mine. So have a lot of the other workers on this planet. There’s going to be—”

“But if Neefa Swain finds out!” Tordy’s eyes flashed to the closed office door.

“He won’t,” Tom cut him off. “And he won’t have any power over you once you deactivate your armband. And you won’t be here to tell him anyway.” Tom placed his hands on Tordy’s desk, leaning in to meet the man’s yellow eyes. “Come with me to Avil today. There’s a resistance movement growing there, and they’re getting ready to strike. They could use your help, especially afterward. The freed workers are going to need leaders, administrators, people who know how to get things done.”

“I cannot!”

“And I’m not going to make you. But you helped me. You helped me and you helped my friend and now I want to help you. I promise you that you can make a difference with us at Avil, and I think this is what you’ve been waiting for. I want you to come with me, but it’s up to you to decide.”

Tordy said nothing, his expression unreadable. Tom stood, waiting. He had intended to give Tordy as long as he needed to make this decision, but he sure hoped Tordy would make it fast. He feared Neefa Swain would emerge at any moment, and they needed to get going to Avil now if they were going to make it before flight control closed. 

Tordy finally turned away and started typing at his console. Tom was hopeful. This had been a good sign last time. Tordy poked around, and then he did something Tom had never seen him do: he shut off his computer.

“We are due in Avil tonight. We must leave now.” Tordy stood. 

Tom grabbed the hacked _tumen_ off the desk, and motioned for Tordy to follow. “Come on. We’ll do this in the ship; it’s going to hurt a little.” On their way out of the building he paused for half a second to glance at Neefa Swain’s closed door. He could picture Neefa Swain behind it, sucking greedily on his _fluordin_ , leaning back in his recliner, maybe congratulating himself for running such a successful business. He would be shocked when he finally emerged and discovered he had no business without his two prize workers. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're all thinking. How in the world is she going to write her way out of this in only two more chapters?
> 
> Take a deep breath. Here we go.

“That’s some space station.” The comment came from Tom’s right and was accompanied by a low whistle. Ayala, in the beige jumpsuit of an Avil worker, was acting co-pilot in the _48315_. Mendez and Tabor sat in the rear set of seats; Chell had squeezed in standing between them, and the others in the back of the craft were clustered around the door, everyone trying to catch a first glimpse of _Voyager_. The rest of the planetside _Voyager_ crew, including Chakotay and Tuvok, were spread out over the other two passenger shuttlecraft that the resistance fighters had hijacked immediately after the resistance strike had begun.

It had become quite clear to Tom, during his day and a half working with the resistance in Avil, why Chakotay had been a high-priority target for both Starfleet and Cardassian undercover operations: the man was a master at organizing a rebellion. When Tom and Tordy had landed at Avil almost two days ago the place seemed very business-as-usual. But behind the scenes was a different story. _Tumen_ were being hacked and workers’ armbands deactivated at an astonishing rate. Weapons were being handed out and neatly stashed in jumpsuit pockets. Explosives were being manufactured in hidden utility areas. Further behind the scenes Chakotay, along with Tuvok who had recently been transferred to Avil, was drilling workers on their roles and the timeline for the rebellion. Tom had never been so happy to see Tuvok; suddenly their escape felt much more imminent, _Voyager_ that much closer.

Tom had spent his time in Avil leading a small unit of workers covertly setting explosives at key points throughout the port. He enjoyed the team camaraderie during the day, but was always relieved to return to the solitude of the _48315_ at night. Both evenings he went to administer a _tumen_ right before bed and was surprised when he remembered that he didn’t need them anymore. Strange, the end of that particular rhythm in his life. When he retired to the bunk room he ran his hands over the rumpled sheets of the unmade top bunk, as if he could find a few molecules of B’Elanna’s presence left in them. And when he got in his own bunk he pressed himself against the wall, leaving space for someone who wasn’t there. He wondered what she was doing on Tilnauch-Alpha.

Tordy had adjusted remarkably well to this new world, despite the anxious brooding he had done during their flight to Avil two days ago. After a brief period of overwhelm upon first meeting Chakotay and Tuvok, the skinny Talaxian had warmed up to the situation and made himself an essential part of the resistance efforts. Tordy’s exhaustive knowledge of shipping routes, schedules, and the inner workings of the largest Nauchan corporations quickly made him indispensable to the resistance as they geared up for their uprising.

The strike had gone off perfectly this morning: Torshun, Avil, and quite a few of the larger cities on the planet were shut down by the revolting workers. Flight control, police forces, and communication systems all came grinding to a halt as explosions rocked the vital infrastructure of the cities and the workers pulled weapons on their masters. Tordy was acting as dispatch, coordinating the efforts of the workers in Avil and the surrounding cities. It was the perfect role for him. 

The _Voyager_ crew, or at least the thirty-one of them who had managed to assemble in Avil and Torshun, had done their work and then split into three groups, two groups taking shuttles piloted by Chakotay and Tuvok, and the third group in the _48315_ with Tom. Tom had already done the math in his head: Including the seventy-six crewmen already on Tilnauch-Alpha, 111 of the _Voyager_ crew would be returning to _Voyager_ today, if all went according to plan. That left forty-two people on the planet, abandoned to an unknown fate.

“Where’s _Voyager_?” Mendez asked from directly behind Tom, tension in his voice. “I don’t see her.”

“Right there, at about our two o’clock.” Tom had spotted her just as Mendez had asked the question, and he smiled as he lifted his hand from the controls for just a second to point. It was a welcome sight, the smooth lines of _Voyager_ rising behind the curve of Tilnauch-Alpha. Home. Safety.

“This is Commander Chakotay.” The comm system burst to life. “We have _Voyager_ in our sights. Harry? B’Elanna? Is anyone there?”

Nobody in the cockpit said a word, or even breathed, waiting for a response. Tom had been monitoring the regular Nauchan channels directly after they had departed the action in Avil, and judging from the very few panicked communications coming through, the space station resistance had been just as effective as the one in Avil, crippling the Nauchans’ ability to respond effectively to either attack.

“I repeat: this is Commander Chakotay coming in with three vessels. We will be ready to land in the shuttlebay in approximately eight minutes. Is anyone on _Voyager_ yet?”

Their flotilla of three came around past _Voyager_. She looked a little banged up with phaser burns in places and several large gouges on her hull plating. Tom winced to see it. The comm stayed silent as their little squadron held position just behind her, waiting for the shuttle bay doors to open. Tom nervously rubbed at his bearded jaw as the silence continued to stretch out.

“It’s good to hear your voice, Chakotay.” Suddenly Captain Janeway’s voice came in clear over the comm. “We have partial control of _Voyager_ , but the Kordaien are putting up quite a fight. We haven’t made it to the bridge yet.” There was the muffled sound of yelling in the background. “B’Elanna is attempting to open the shuttlebay doors for you now, remotely, but we haven’t cleared that deck yet. Your team should be ready for combat.” The cockpit of the _48315_ filled with happy cheering and shouting. Tom closed his eyes very briefly, smiling at B’Elanna’s name, glad to hear that, so far at least, she was alive. 

“Thanks for the warning, and the welcome, _Captain_ ,” Chakotay said, emphasizing the last word. Their little flotilla hung in space for a few more minutes, Tom growing nervous as the minutes ticked by, but at last the large shuttlebay doors began to open and the bright lights of _Voyager_ welcomed them home. 

Tom pulled the _48315_ into the rear position, setting down in the shuttlebay just seconds after Chakotay and Tuvok’s vessels had landed. As soon as the shuttlebay had re-pressurized the teams streamed out of their vessels, each armed with at least one resistance weapon. Tom carried the welder-phaser that B’Elanna had built at Retener. They looked strange, all of them, in their dusty jumpsuits with their hodge-podge of weapon-tools, back in the bright shuttlebay of _Voyager_. They gathered together in the center of the shuttlebay around Chakotay.

“We’ll split into three teams, this side with Ayala, these ones with Tuvok, the rest with me.” Chakotay motioned splitting the assembly into three parts. “Tuvok’s team will clear deck ten and then head down to engineering. Ayala, you’ll take this team and start clearing decks nine all the way up to the bridge. My team,” Chakotay indicated himself, Tom, Mendez, Anderson, and Tabor, “will head directly to deck one to help retake the bridge. Remember, we’re here to take _Voyager_ back. Use any means necessary to secure the ship and defend yourselves. Alright, let’s do this!” The crowd roared in response to Chakotay, some of them raising their weapons up in exultation. Even the most uptight of the former Starfleet officers were joining in the shouting. Damn, Chakotay was good. Tom made a mental note to buy the man a drink when this was all over, provided they were all still alive of course.

The two other teams departed and Chakotay led his team into the nearest Jeffries tube access hatch inside the shuttlebay. They quickly emerged on deck seven, the furthest forward they could go in the aft Jeffries tube system. They would have to make their way to the forward Jeffries tube system now in order to make the final climb to the bridge.

“The next Jeffries tube isn’t far. Stay alert.” Chakotay waved at them to fan out behind him. Sounds of shouting and shooting were coming from much further forward. Tabor and Anderson exchanged nervous looks. Tom took up the rear position, welder-phaser at the ready, eyes combing the corridor looking for Kordaien. He was horrified by the damage to _Voyager_ ’s interior: ripped fabric and blown out panels and deep gouges on the walls. Anderson looked back at him, grimacing, as she stepped over claw marks on the carpet. The Nauchan slave system had left as much a mark on _Voyager_ as it had on her people. 

Tom was stepping over the claw marks when suddenly he heard panicked scuffling and shouting in front of him. The wall next to Chakotay exploded, and the smell of burning metal filled the corridor. 

“Back! Back!” The group scrambled backward. Tom turned just in time to see a Kordaien stepping out from a corner several meters behind him, weapon ready. 

“They’re coming from the rear!” Tom fired his weapon at the Kordaien. The Kordaien shouted angrily and took a step back. Tom’s adrenaline had been pumping all day, but this was a new level. Every sense was sharpened, every muscle tensed. They had to get out of this corridor.  “This way!” He dashed to the next intersection. He hoped he had hit that Kordaein badly enough to keep him from following them. 

Tom turned and saw that Chakotay and Mendez were no longer with him. He rounded one more corner and then stopped with Anderson and Tabor. 

“Where’s Chakotay? And Mendez?”

“I don’t know,” Anderson shook her head, breathing hard.

“Shit.” Tom wished they had real weapons. The Kordaien weapons were vicious, and all they had were these hacked tools with a short range. “Follow me.”

“Are we going back for them?” Anderson asked, eyes wide. “Chakotay said the bridge was the priority.”

“First we need to even the odds,” Tom said. “We need to get one of those Kordaien weapons.” Tabor nodded grimly, hoisting his own hacked phaser. 

“You two head down that way. I’ll come up from the other side, and we’ll surround the injured one.” Anderson looked doubtful but went with Tabor. Tom had given them what he had guessed was the safer route. He had a longer corridor to travel, fewer hiding spots. He could still hear the sound of shouting from much further forward, but couldn’t hear anything from where he had left the (hopefully) wounded Kordaien.

He carefully made his way back down the corridor, but when he checked around the corner the Kordaien wasn’t there. Damn. Where had he gone? Tom hoped he hadn’t sent Anderson and Tabor into a trap. He edged his way down the corridor, senses still blazing, wishing he had a compression phaser rifle, or at least a way to communicate with Anderson and Tabor. He cautiously approached the intersection where he had left the Kordaein. Yellow mucus on the floor. Kordaien blood?

Tom froze. There were two Kordaien now, halfway down the other side of the corridor, right where he had just sent his colleagues. Both carrying those energy blast weapons. Damn. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped. But Tabor and Anderson were about to walk right into them. He had to do something. 

Tom leapt across the corridor, firing his welder-phaser and aiming for the nearer Kordaien. As soon as he landed on the other side he turned and leapt again, this time firing blindly into the corridor. He needed to draw them away from the rest of his team. 

The Kordaien was running at him. Tom dashed down the corridor, angry Kordaien roaring behind him. He started to panic. He hadn’t really thought it this far through. The bulkhead to his left exploded. He was being shot at. 

He dove around the nearest corner. Either he would keep running indefinitely or he would turn and shoot again. But if he was going to take this guy out with the welder-phaser it needed to be at close range. 

The Kordaien came around the corner in the next instant, energy weapon pointed directly at Tom. But his ugly grey neck ran right into Tom’s welder-phaser, and Tom pulled the trigger. The Kordaien seized up and dropped to the ground. Tom looked past the alien as he hit the floor. The other Kordaien was down too, Tabor and Anderson standing triumphantly over him, a puddle of yellow mucus on the floor. 

Tom pocketed B’Elanna’s welder-phaser and grabbed the large energy weapon from the fallen man. He wiped the sticky sweat off it before hoisting it, surprised at how light it was. Ahead of him Tabor was claiming the other fallen Kordaien’s weapon. But Tom spotted something moving not far behind Anderson.

“Get down!” Tom shouted, lifting his new weapon. Tom pushed the button on the Kordaien weapon, and hit the Kordaien who had been coming up behind the group of humans. He dropped to the ground swiftly, just like poor Doyle had so many months ago. 

Anderson retrieved the energy weapon from that third fallen Kordaien. Now fully armed, the three humans made their way back down the corridor where they had first lost Chakotay and Mendez. They located their comrades several meters away from their original position. Chakotay had been hit by the energy weapon, a glancing blow across his left arm, but the wound was as vicious as the weapon that had inflicted it. He was conscious and could walk for now, but blood was draining from his body, spreading quickly down his beige jumpsuit. Mendez had been trying to shield him from the battle. 

“You got all three of them?” Chakotay wheezed when he saw Tom and company arriving with the Kordaien weapons in their hands.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Let’s get out of here.”

The shouting that had been coming from ahead of them had quieted, although it wasn’t clear if that was good or bad. A few minutes later they had reached their goal and Tabor was opening the hatch to the forward Jeffries tube system. Anderson climbed in immediately. Mendez hesitated.

“Just get me in there and leave me with a weapon,” Chakotay said. “I can’t make it up seven decks.”

“Come on Chakotay, you didn’t come all this way to bleed out on deck seven and miss all the action on the bridge. There’s three of us here; we’ll all help get you up there.” Tom looked to Tabor and Mendez and Anderson for confirmation. They all nodded in agreement. 

Manhandling the resistance leader up the ladder was just as difficult as Tom had anticipated. Their progress was slow, especially near the end when it was clear that the blood loss was starting to affect Chakotay’s ability to control his functional limbs. It took all three of them to get him up to the final Jeffries tube landing on deck one.

They had made it, but Tom had no idea what to expect when they opened the hatch. Last they had heard the Kordaien still controlled the bridge. They set Chakotay as far back as possible, weapon in hand. The rest of the team took positions up behind Tom. He would open the hatch himself, hopefully bursting out fast enough to take the Kordaien by surprise. Everyone else would follow him.

“Ready? One, two, three!” He pushed the door open, and jumped out, energy blast weapon at the ready. 

He was greeted by Captain Kathryn Janeway, clad in a navy blue jumpsuit, pointing a compression phaser rifle in his face.

“Tom!”

“Captain,” Tom grinned at her. Captain Janeway, back in command on the bridge of _Voyager_. Another piece in just the right place. 

“I need a medkit for Chakotay,” Tom said, motioning for Mendez and Anderson to pull Chakotay out onto the bridge. Janeway ducked to retrieve the medkit from the science station, and Tom had a moment to take in his surroundings. There were several dead Kordaien on the floor, yellow mucus blood pooling around them. The walls were marked with craters and burns, and several consoles were completely blown out. It must have been quite a fight in here. Tom barely recognized the _Voyager_ crew in the silver jumpsuits of Tilnauch-Alpha scrambling at the consoles behind the captain’s chair. He did recognize Ensign Kaplan standing at tactical. 

“We need power to the impulse engines!” Harry Kim was shouting from his place at ops. He looked exhausted and frantic. 

“I’m rerouting power from the impulse engines to the transporters,” B’Elanna shouted back at him from the engineering station. Tom was surprised but happy to see her here; he had assumed she would have gone directly to engineering. She was also dressed in the shiny silver jumpsuit of Tilnauch-Alpha, looking a little battered, a little exhausted, but also wildly determined.

Tom looked back down at Chakotay, now laid out on the floor. Tabor was already working away, using the emergency cauterizer to seal up Chakotay’s wound. Anderson held the medical tricorder over him, scanning, nodding to herself.

“I think he’ll be okay as long as Tabor can get this wound sealed quickly,” she said. 

“Good.” The captain turned to Tom from her spot on the floor where she was kneeling next to Chakotay, her hand gripping the big man’s shoulder. “Mister Paris, I believe we’re going to need you at the helm momentarily.”

Tom stepped over a dead Kordaien on the way to his station. He dropped the large energy weapon to the floor, and slid into his old chair, still there, undamaged. His fingers danced across the familiar console easily, as if he had just been away on an extended lunch break. A flashing list of non-functional systems grabbed his attention as the console came to life under his hands. 

“B’Elanna! You can’t reroute power from the impulse engines!” Harry was saying from far behind Tom, his voice rising with tension. “If the Nauchans launch an attack—”

“And I’m taking power from the warp drive for the sensors,” B’Elanna bit back across the bridge to Harry. “You’ll still have thrusters for now. I just need ten minutes, and then we can put everything back into the engines.”

Janeway had made her way to the captain’s chair, apparently satisfied with Chakotay’s condition. She had shifted her rifle onto her shoulder, and seemed to be calling up data on her command console. Tom had already programmed in a course out of the Nauchan system, but Janeway hadn’t yet given the order to depart. Apparently they were going to wait on whatever B’Elanna was working on. 

“Tuvok to the captain,” Tuvok’s voice came through the comm.

“Report, Lieutenant.” Janeway looked up.  

“We have cleared decks ten through fifteen,” Tuvok said. “Engineering is secure.”

“Good.” Janeway responded. “Ayala reported in about five minutes ago. They’ve cleared decks nine through three. They were having some trouble with a group of Kordaien holed up in the mess hall but he assured me it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.” Tom smiled to himself. He would have to remember to buy Ayala a drink too. “Hold your position on the lower decks, Lieutenant. We’re going to be getting out of here soon.”

“Aye, captain.” Tuvok responded before the comm was cut. 

“Harry, did the Doctor get transferred back to sickbay?” Janeway now turned backward to the ops station. 

“Yes, he should be there now.”

“Mendez, you and Tabor take the commander straight to sickbay. Anderson, take the science station for now.”

“Captain, I do have thrusters,” Tom called. “I can start backing us off now, at least get us undocked.”

“Do it, Mister Paris, but maintain transporter range,” Janeway said. “Ten minutes, B’Elanna?”

“Ten minutes, Captain,” B’Elanna confirmed from the engineering station. 

_Voyager_ ’s forward docking port had already been closed manually by the Tilnauch-Alpha resistance forces, so Tom only had to disengage the clamps and begin a slow burn on the thrusters to back them off.

“We’re being hailed by Tilnauch-Alpha,” Harry said from behind him.

“On screen,” Janeway said. Tom didn’t have to look behind him to know that she was standing now, hands on her hips, ready for battle. A Nauchan male appeared on the viewscreen, his mint green jumpsuit making his violet grey skin look sickly. 

“This is unacceptable and outrageous behavior!” The alien man bristled with wrath. Tom shivered, remembering Neefa Swain towering over him and Tordy with that same violent rage. “You will dock this vessel and return it to the Kordaien immediately!” 

“I believe you are mistaken,” Janeway said. “This is our ship and we have no intention of returning it to the Kordaien.”

“Foolish worker,” the Nauchan sneered. “The armband will kill you in two days without a supply of _tumen_. Return the vessel now and we will let you live.” A lie.

“Oh you mean this armband?” Janeway tapped her right arm. “Perhaps you’re unaware: we’ve deactivated our armbands.”

“Impossible.” The Nauchan man bristled.

“I haven’t had a _tumen_ in almost a full day. How about you, Mister Paris?”

“I think it’s been four days for me, ma’am.” Tom was enjoying the horror creeping into the Nauchan man’s face. 

“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Janeway continued, “and I recommend that you let us do so. Otherwise, we would be happy to share instructions for deactivating the armbands with the rest of the workers. Imagine the chaos. Surely you wouldn’t want that?” The Nauchan’s horror was turning to shock, but Janeway motioned to Harry to cut the comm link, and the alien man disappeared from the screen.  

“Lieutenant Torres?” Janeway called toward the engineering station.

“Almost there, Captain, just one more,” B’Elanna responded. 

“Captain,” Tom said, turning to face Janeway. “You do know we’ve already spread the instructions for disabling the armbands to our contacts on the planet, right?”

“I’m counting on it, Mister Paris.” She said it with a smirk. “But the Nauchans certainly don’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Transferring power back to the engines,” B’Elanna called out. “You should have full impulse and warp in a few seconds.”

“And the crew?” Janeway asked.

“We have a full complement of 153 on board,” B’Elanna answered. Surprised at this, Tom swiveled even further around to look at B’Elanna. He noticed for the first time that his old Nauchan PADD, the one with his manifest, was balanced on the top of the engineering console.

“Mister Paris,” Janeway said, hands on her hips again, a gleam in her eye. “Get us the hell out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He brought _Voyager_ around, and directed her out of the Nauchan system, leaving behind the dusty orange planet and her white space station halo as fast as the warp engines would allow. 


	28. Chapter 28

Tom’s eyes were closed, and he was leaning back into the pilot’s chair of the _48315_ when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the small staircase. He frowned. He had come here to _Voyager_ ’s shuttlebay, to his ship, specifically to be alone. He had started doing that now, in the ten days since they had departed Tilnauch. 

_Voyager_ had been ravaged by her time as a slave ship. Most of the corridors were now marked with the same scratches and blast marks that Tom had noted while they were retaking the ship. The cargo bay floors were dark and sticky with several shades of alien blood. The mess hall, sickbay, the science lab, everything had been pillaged, including many of the crew quarters. _Voyager_ was supposed to feel like home, but it was a home that had been aggressively ransacked. There was no triumphant sense of safety to be found here.

In addition to leaving behind a mess, the Kordaien had left behind an important piece of technology: the massive power surge weapon for immobilizing their targets. It had proven useful against the two Kordaien fleets that had attempted to stop _Voyager_ ’s flight from Tilnauch, but now that they were well past the Kordaien border they had to decide what to do with it. It was one thing to use this sort of power against the slavers themselves, quite another to use it against someone else, or risk it falling into the wrong hands. 

The _Voyager_ crew had been realigned by their captivity. No longer Maquis and Starfleet, they were now divided based on their location during enslavement: planetside or space station. The crew who had been enslaved on the space station had already formed a loyal faction. Their response in the first few days of freedom had been one of triumph and satisfaction, happily congratulating each other for executing that flawless escape. They jumped back into their duties easily. The planetside workers were another story. Some of them had been in smaller groups, or with at least one crewmate, but many of them had been alone, some even more isolated than Tom had been. They had endured more pain and trauma than the space station workers, and many of them struggled to readjust to life on _Voyager_. There had been an alcohol poisoning incident involving a planetside engineer on deck four just two days ago, and Vorik had developed a tremor in his left hand which remained even after his armband had been removed; purely psychological, according to the Doctor. 

The Doctor had declared the armbands “an impressive use of biotechnology.” It had taken him two full days to devise a procedure for removing the devices, and he had been performing surgery around the clock since then. More than half the crew—Tom included—were still waiting for their turn. The Doctor assured them that the deactivated armbands weren’t causing them any harm, but Tom was fairly certain the Doc hadn’t taken the crew’s emotional balance into account. Regardless, the armbands were slowly being removed, and Tom was now regularly working gamma shift in sickbay, taking his turn assisting the Doctor with the armband removal procedure. He had volunteered for it, wanting to keep busy. 

Tom inhabited a strange liminal space between crews now: he hadn’t been part of the crowd on the space station, but he hadn’t been trapped in one place on the planet either. He hadn’t endured the same deep, desperate pain that many of the planetside workers had, but neither had he been completely free of pain or out of danger like the space station workers. Not unlike when the crew had defined itself as either Maquis or Starfleet, Tom had a foot in each faction, but belonged in neither. 

Tom was coping with the experience in his own way. He still tasted blood in his mouth, and he wiped nonexistent orange dust from his new Starfleet uniform throughout the day. He caught the smell of _fluordin_ from time to time, and his heart rate would jump. His fear was very real, even if the smell was not. When he stretched out in his bed at night and closed his eyes he saw the long grey line of workers at Retener. He saw B’Elanna’s back, covered in plasma burns, felt her fingers clasped around his arm in desperation. He had fixed those plasma burns, but he couldn’t fix what had happened between them. 

Despite the domestic truce they had declared during their three days together on the _48315_ , he knew their relationship had taken an irrevocable turn, the trust between them broken. He had taken advantage of her, had allowed her desperation to drive her into his bed. She had been more than willing, yes, but she also hadn’t been herself. They had survived, they had made it back to _Voyager_ , but their time on Tilnauch had come with a cost. 

He had been hoping to clear the air between them so that they could move forward as friends and colleagues again. It needed to happen if they were going to stay on this ship together for another seventy years. Tom had even started composing his apology, playing it out in his head. But they had both been busy, had only been in the same room twice in the past ten days, and it didn’t seem like a reconciliation would be coming anytime soon. Tom was grieving for the end of them, grieving for what they could have been. 

And so he had started coming here, to the _48315_ , before his gamma shift in sickbay. Sometimes just to hide. Sometimes to sleep. At least here the taste of blood on his tongue seemed fitting. Here the armband around his bicep made sense. It was a good place to be alone, and to be lonely. 

But that wasn’t quite working out for him today. He turned as he heard footsteps nearing. 

“Hey.” B’Elanna was standing in the doorway of the cockpit, arms crossed, a Nauchan PADD in her hands. She was back in her gold-shouldered Starfleet uniform, still noticeably skinnier than she should be. Her hair was still longer too, and Tom wondered if she was planning to keep it like that. He kind of liked it. Not that it mattered what he thought. 

“Hey,” he responded. It still surprised him to see her like this: standing easily, free of pain, mostly back to her old self. It was a good reminder that they hadn’t lost everything.

She sat in the co-pilot’s chair, facing him, and held the PADD out to him. “Your manifest. I thought you might want it back. As a souvenir.” He turned in his own chair to face her and accept the PADD, careful not to let his fingers touch hers. It seemed much warmer in the cockpit now.

“I thought this thing would end up being pointless,” Tom commented. “I’ve been wondering how you used it to get everyone out.” He set the PADD on the console next to him. “It’s not like you knew where the cities were, and even once you narrowed in on the right location you couldn’t scan for a commbadge.” She raised her eyebrows at that.

“Your flight maps are on that PADD too, you know,” she said. “And I scanned for serial numbers, not commbadges.” Now he raised his eyebrows. “I noticed that the number on your armband was very close to my number when I tried to break into yours,” she continued. He nodded, remembering the worst pain of his life shooting through his body, B’Elanna next to him on the floor of the _74656_ , frantic.

“The armbands were installed sequentially.”

“Exactly,” she said. She explained that she had tracked the serial numbers on the crew’s armbands as she deactivated them up on Tilnauch-Alpha. By the time they were back on _Voyager_ she had a pretty good idea of the range of numbers she needed to scan for in order to find the last of the crew. “The ones you had locations for went fast, but scanning the whole planet for those last thirteen serial numbers was time-consuming. That’s why I needed all that extra power for the sensors and transporters. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your manifest. Turns out a Tom Paris Original Idea saved everyone’s ass this time.” Tom had to smile at that, and B’Elanna smiled back briefly, but then she looked away and her voice turned dark. “I know Harry thought we should just come back for them later. He was probably right, from a tactical perspective, at least. But I couldn’t…” She looked down. “At least the captain agreed with me that we had to try.”

“I’m glad she did,” Tom said. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving people behind.”

“Harry and the others, they have no idea.” Her voice was bitter. “That space station, the life they had up there, it was so easy. Not like...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Tom sighed. And he thought he was struggling to process the experience. He couldn’t even imagine what she saw when she closed her eyes, and for how long she was going to keep seeing it. Tom wished he could support her through this, but they were only colleagues again, trying to find their footing as friends. And what had happened between them was probably part of what she would need help processing.

“Have you tried talking to Chakotay about this yet? I’ve heard he’s a good counselor, and I know he’s a good friend to you.”

“Actually I had a good talk with Chakotay yesterday. We had a lot to catch up on.” She seemed nervous now, and had turned her head to look at the console next to her, absently running her fingers over the smooth edge.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tom said. Silence stretched out between them for a few moments while Tom wondered if he should launch into his apology now. He wondered why she was still here, why she hadn’t left immediately after completing her errand.

“Tom, I didn’t just come here today to give you back your PADD…” B’Elanna finally started, then stopped. She didn’t look up from her fingertips on the console. Tom felt himself inhale sharply, mentally girding himself for what would be, at best, an emotional and difficult reconciliation.

“I wanted to thank you...” B’Elanna said.

Tom blinked.

“...for everything you did for me back there. The food, the _tumen_. Chakotay told me about the dermal regenerator.” She finally glanced at him for just a second before turning her eyes back to the console. “And trading the _fluordin_ for the armbands. And advocating for me.”

“Anyone else would have done the same.” He shrugged. 

“No.” Her voice had a serious edge now, and she was suddenly keeping eye contact, emphasizing the gravity of her statement. “You’re the only reason I didn’t die at Retener. I always knew you would try to come back for me. Even after I...” Her voice cracked, and she tripped over her words, pausing. Tom saw the hurt in her eyes. He knew what she was referencing.

This was it. This was his big chance to clear the air between them, and it had to happen now. He had to say what needed to be said. He took a deep breath. 

“B’Elanna, you don’t have to thank me. I would’ve done anything for you, because I wanted to, not because I had to. And actually I’m glad you’re here because I’ve been wanting to apologize for what happened between us.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I want to say I’m so sorry for taking advantage of you when you weren’t yourself.” His heart rate had skyrocketed. “I want you to know that you mean more to me than just… that. I never meant to hurt you.” He looked away as he felt tears forming in his eyes.

“Is that what you think? That you took advantage of me?”

He shook his head. “You weren’t yourself…”

“Tom I…” B’Elanna narrowed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “You have nothing to apologize for. I came here to thank you, but I also came here to apologize to _you_.”

Was she joking? He turned to look at her again, but she appeared utterly serious and determined.

“Listen, Tom…” she started and then stopped. “I… talking to Chakotay yesterday helped me clarify some things.”

He cringed at that. Did Chakotay know about everything? If he did it was going to be a long seventy years of bridge shifts with the man’s eyes boring angry holes into the back of Tom’s head. She must have noticed Tom’s expression because she grimaced in returned.

“No, I mean, I didn’t tell him… everything. I just… talking to him gave me some new perspective on me, and on you. And I realized I had some things to say to you.”

“B’Elanna—”

“No, let me say this.” She held her hand up to emphasize her point and Tom shut his mouth. She took a deep breath. “You’re right that I wasn’t myself down there, and I’m embarrassed of how I acted. Especially when you were trying to stop things and I wasn’t listening. I just… I felt so safe with you and I thought I was going to die and I thought it didn’t matter anyway.”

Tom swallowed back his dissent. He hated that she felt the need to apologize for what she perceived as her own weakness. She was still the strongest person he had ever known.

“And then we were on your new ship together,” she continued, “and I was alive, and I didn’t know how… I didn’t know what we were.” Her voice was shaking as she forced out the words. “But then you made it clear that we were done and I had to respect that.”

“I didn’t want to be done,” Tom said, the truth spilling out of him before he could control it. “I didn’t ever want to be done, but I never wanted to be something you would regret. I had to stop it.” Silence filled the cockpit for a few moments as they stared at each other.

“Do you think that I regret you?” B’Elanna finally broke the silence. “Do you think that you’re the one who fucked up here?” She shook her head. “You always see the best in people, don’t you, Tom? And you forgive everyone except yourself, even when they don’t deserve it.” 

“You don’t need my forgiveness,” he said. She paused, looking down at her lap, taking a few deep breaths in the small silence. 

“I regret that it happened the way it did,” she finally said. 

“Me too,” Tom agreed.

“But I don’t regret you.” Her voice wasn’t cracking anymore, her words were deliberate. She turned her eyes up to meet Tom’s, bewilderment in his, confidence in hers.

Tom was surprised at the conviction in her tone, not quite sure how to respond. B’Elanna leaned toward him now, and placed her warm hands on his knees. Her touch was gentle and familiar, but also possessive, passionate: the physical manifestation of all of it, of everything behind them. He exhaled, suddenly delighted to be so close to her again. It was definitely warmer in here.

“That’s the other thing I came to tell you. That I don’t want us to be… like this. Separated like this. I miss you, and I don’t want what happened to come between us and…” She hesitated, looking down and then back up at him. “I hope we can try again sometime. Try us again.” Tom’s heart started pounding even harder, every molecule in his body vibrating with emotion. “If that’s okay with you,” she added.

Suddenly everything felt new again, the colors more vivid, the future clear and bright. Tom grinned, and put his hands on top of B’Elanna’s, his fingertips resting on her wrists. “Yeah, that’s okay with me,” he said. “But the right way this time. We can take it slow, the way it was supposed to be.” 

There was a smile playing out on her lips. “Well I didn’t say anything about taking it slow,” she said as she leaned in toward him.


End file.
